


this rose is our destiny, tearing us apart

by lucianlibrarian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Revolutionary Girl Utena Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Consent Issues, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Experimental Style, Flashbacks, Forced Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Improbable Architecture, Incest, M/M, Magic, Medical Experimentation, Multi, Mystery Religions, Non-Canonical Character Death, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Power Dynamics, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucianlibrarian/pseuds/lucianlibrarian
Summary: A Revolutionary Girl Utena AU with art byaiko_lpez.Once upon a time, there was a young prince, and he was very sad because his parents had died. Before him appeared a great beauty with a regal bearing and kind smile. The prince was suddenly wrapped in a rose-scented embrace, his tears gently kissed from his eyes."Little one who shines like a flame in the dark despite such deep sorrow," the beauty said, "never lose that strength or nobility, even when you grow up." Pale, slender hands slid a ring onto his finger."Shall we meet again?" the prince asked.The beauty pressed petalsoft lips to the prince’s forehead. "I give you my ring to remember me. Should you do so, it will reunite us one day."Was that an engagement ring the beauty gave the prince? No one knows for sure, but the young prince was so lovestruck, he vowed to become a worthy match! But was that really such a good idea?Ignis is the "prince" of Insomnia Academy, excelling in academics and athletics. Then one day, he follows a trail of petals to a garden in the sky. There he meets Noctis, the Rose Bridegroom, and his world is never the same.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ardyn Izunia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Ravus Nox Fleuret, Gladiolus Amicitia/Ravus Nox Fleuret/Ardyn Izunia, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Aranea Highwind, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Ravus Nox Fleuret, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Ravus Nox Fleuret/Ardyn Izunia, Verstael Besithia/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 40
Kudos: 42
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	1. duel 01 :: bridegroom

**Author's Note:**

> **AUTHOR'S NOTES: 15.06.2020**  
>    
> A WILD CHAPTER 12 APPEARS! (Sorry, I think doing Chapter 11 so soon after 1-10 kind of burned me out, and I needed to do a bunch of other stuff first to recharge. But hey, here I am!)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Oh, how I wish I could have finished the entire thing in time, but alas—life and health issues conspired against me. Not that I don't come armed with plenty of content and the promise of more to come! I love this fic with all my heart and plan to see it through to the very end.
> 
> A story this long and complex doesn't get made without tons of source material. Obviously, if you haven't seen _Utena_ , you should! It's [free on YouTube, thanks to Nozomi](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrrh84y760v-hDEulas0Tp_wiQy0FcjLl). (The movie isn't legally available for free, but it isn't required. I mostly consulted it for visual inspiration and an alternative approach to the first duel. I promise no one's turning into the Regalia!)
> 
> The "soundtrack" is available [on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5WtZkNu5nkfVq3EY8HTw8p?si=9lTIaZd6Tya4iilgZV6Mfw) and consists of pretty much every piano piece I mention; a bunch of duel choruses from the 20th anniversary album, _Barbara Dwarf Star Child Apocalypse_ ; and music I felt captured characters and moments in the narrative. I also compiled a massive [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/lucianlubrarian/this-rose-is-our-destiny/) if you want to get into my head and also learn way too much about French military uniforms.
> 
> Finally, I borrowed significantly from the language of Paul Celan's _Atemwende_ and the music of J.A. Seazer. I'm leaving the Seazer allusions as Easter eggs (when not citing them as [epigraphs](http://ohtori.nu/audiology/)), but I'll point out the Celan references more specifically when they happen.
> 
> [aiko_lpez](https://twitter.com/aiko_lpez) has been the most amazing artist I could have possibly hoped for. She's put up with so many obsessive threads and endless musings from me, and she always brought me to tears with her amazing art. I'll link her two(?!) illustrations again in the endnotes to Chapters 1 and 6, but here they are: [one](https://app.box.com/s/mqmvgq31oompg8gsouk2qdfg7lf9wpux) and [two](https://app.box.com/s/ftr9wjpxtfo5b7lbzv7tv5529upyj2py). My beta, [latt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latt) has also been an absolute treasure. I feel so very blessed to have been teamed up with such amazing people. Just thinking about them is making me want to ugly-cry all over again!
> 
> This fic owes a debt of gratitude to several people. First of all, thanks to [demishock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demishock), whose offhand comment in the IgNoct BB server turned into, well, _this_. Thanks for being my friend and (im)moral support. Many thanks, too, to [arivess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arivess/), [Charmkeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmkeeper/pseuds/Charmkeeper), and [seki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki) for their kindness, support, and excitement, which kept me going when things got tough. A massive thanks to [titansatemysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titansatemysoul/pseuds/titansatemysoul) for being an awesome organizer and human.
> 
> But most of all, [Dark_Ruby_Regalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia), it's quite possible I would've given up months ago if not for you. There aren't enough words of love to give.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fated meeting. an act of chivalry. a miracle, perhaps, and then something darker.  
> 

_we lose ourselves in the oblivion of our fetishes, stagnating_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Monastic Life • Is • A Flesh Apocalypse” (trans. Hiraku)  
  
  
  


It’s not even lunch time yet, and Ignis Scientia is about to break his fourth heart of the day.

The first two were middle-school girls who left love letters in his locker. Standard fare.

Then, a young woman who confronted him in the hall before homeroom with a box of cookies—slightly under-baked but tasty regardless.

Now, it’s a gorgeous young man from the swim club.

“You’re lovely, really,” Ignis says, cupping the man’s warm cheek with one hand and smiling, “but I’m just not interested in anyone but my special someone.” He holds up his other hand and shows the ring on his finger. “See? We’re already engaged.”

It’s no secret to the students of Insomnia Academy that Ignis strives to be a prince in all things—pure-hearted, strong-bodied, clear-minded, noble in word and deed. Very, very few know, however, that he does so because of a promise made when he was a child.

> _Lost, broken, and all alone in the world, Ignis meets a dark-haired beauty who wraps him in a rose-scented embrace and kisses the tears from his eyes. “Little one who shines like a flame in the dark despite such deep sorrow,” the beauty says, “never lose that strength or nobility, even when you grow up.” Pale, slender hands slide a ring onto his finger like a proposal._
> 
> _“Shall we meet again?” young Ignis asks._
> 
> _The beauty smiles, presses petalsoft lips to his forehead. “I give you my ring to remember me. Should you do so, it will reunite us one day.”_

Ignis was so moved by this encounter, he swore then and there that he would grow up to become the finest prince for the one he loved.

As the swimmer slumps away dejectedly, Ignis stares at the ring, the bust of an ancient king over a stylized rose. A strange stone glitters at the center. It’s definitely an unusual engagement ring, but he’s come to adore it because of its unique, dramatic look.

“Mister Scientia!”

 _Already?_ he thinks. “Yes, Vice Principal?”

“I know you’re our finest student, but that doesn’t give you the right to break the rules.”

“Which rules am I breaking?”

“The uniform code!”

Ignis grins and whips out his copy of the student handbook. He’s been expecting this confrontation. “My apologies, Vice Principal, but you’re mistaken. According to Section 34, which can be found on page eighteen of the current student handbook, all uniforms must be academy-issued, but there are no guidelines regarding post-issue modifications. Since I made every one of these modifications after issue, they’re perfectly within guidelines and therefore not against code.”

The Vice Principal stares, his jaw dropping. “Y-you did _all_ those modifications yourself?” The white areas of Ignis’s uniform have all been dyed a rich purple with subtle, almost cirrus-like, variations. Black leather trims the jacket, cuffs, and collar, and every gold button and appliqué has been replaced with silver featuring a skull motif. “That’s not possi—”

“Oh, but it is! I’m quite skilled in the domestic sciences, including cooking and—as you can plainly see—sewing.”

“Well, i-i-it’s a distraction to your fellow students, so you should consider wearing the standard uniform for their sakes!”

“How disgusting! That’s like blaming a woman’s hemline for a man’s harassment!” Ignis snorts and snaps the student handbook closed. “Sir, it’s not against the rules, most people seem to like my style, and I excel academically and athletically. I really don’t see the problem. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

He slinks away, thankful for the crowds summoned by the lunchtime bells. Finding a quiet windowsill to lean on, he sighs and stares out across the courtyard.

Suddenly, he feels the weight of a body slam into his back and a tangle of limbs wrap around him. He pitches forward and has to throw himself back from the sill to compensate. “Prompto! Don’t do that! You’re _heavy_!”

The freckled blond pouts. “What kind of girlfriend are you? First you leave me high and dry in the morning, then you fat-shame me?”

“Would you please stop calling me your girlfriend?”

“But you’re prettier than any girl at school! Why should I date them when I have you?”

“How many times must I remind you that we are _not_ dating?”

Prompto climbs off Ignis’s back and sighs. “Man, why you always gotta be like that, Iggy?”

“Because you’re ruining my reputation!”

“At least lemme take a few photos of this latest uniform design. It’s so super cool! You really outdid yourself!”

“Only if you brought enough of those famous smoothies of yours to share.”

Prompto reaches into his bag, pulls out two insulated bottles. “Only if you brought enough lunch to share!”

Ignis reaches into his bag, pulls out two lunches. “Only if we’re playing basketball after class!”

“What is this, a diplomatic negotiation?”

Ignis poses, Prompto takes a few snaps, and they both burst out laughing.

* * *

“It’s all you, Iggy!” Prompto passes the ball around his waist.

In a flash, Ignis is on a breakaway, sprinting between defenders who might as well be standing still for all they can do to stop him. He jumps. Slam dunks.

“And that,” Ignis says, swinging one-armed from the hoop, “is game.”

The five players cluster up around Prompto. “You fucking hustled us!”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell us you were partnering with Scientia!”

Prompto laughs. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. The bet was that I could beat your entire team, and you replied, and I quote, ‘You and what army?’ I brought my army, now you bring your money. That’s ¥1000 each.”

“Hey, Scientia, when _are_ you planning to join?”

Ignis dries his face and hair with a towel and shrugs. “What, the team? Never. It’s more fun to play when I want with who I want.”

“What a fucking shame. We’d be going to nationals for sure.”

“And that’s ¥5000. Pleasure doing business with you guys.” Prompto folds the bills, tucks them into his sock. “Oh, don’t forget—we get this court for the term, too.”

The five trundle off, muttering, _man, that’s the best court on campus_ and _captain’s gonna have our necks_.

“You keep that up, Prompto, and you’re going to get the coaches on our backs.”

“Nah, I looked it up, and they can’t reserve these courts. The worst that’ll happen is Captain Tummelt giving us noise, but honestly, I think he’d rather stick to the gym than admit his entire team lost to the two of us.”

“Why do you want this court so bad, anyway?”

Prompto stares at Ignis like he just sprouted a second head screaming that kittens were ugly. “Are you kidding? Look at it! All this great shade and soft grass surrounding it, this incredible tree—seriously, I love this tree, we should eat lunch under it every day—and the location is pretty much perfect because it’s somehow right in the middle of everything without ever being too crowded. Like a little slice of basketball heaven on campus.” He sighs, spins around like a movie heroine, flops onto the grass beneath the tree. “And it’s all ours for the whole term.”

Ignis smiles and sits next to Prompto. “Well, it is rather nice.”

“Right? _Right_? A perfect little nook for us to cuddle.”

“For the love of—” Ignis shoves Prompto’s shoulder, rolling him over on his side. “Get out of here!”

Prompto sits up and sniffles dramatically. “Fine, I know when I’m not wanted! You know who wants me? The fine folks over at the photo shop.”

“They want that money burning a hole in your sock, you mean.”

“And I want new lenses. You tagging along?”

“Think I’ll get acquainted with your favorite tree here for a bit, then head back to the dorms.”

“Cool, catch you later!”

Ignis can hear Prompto whistling the theme song to some video game as he jogs off. _Nothing ever fazes him,_ he thinks. _He just accepts, adjusts, and moves on with a smile._ That’s honestly one of his favorite things about Prompto—how effortlessly he rolls with the world around him. It’s a gift Ignis wishes he had. And though he wishes Prompto would stop the whole girlfriend thing, he knows it comes from a place of trust.

He lounges beneath the tree, still too sweaty to comfortably don his newest custom jacket over his undershirt. A cool breeze fluffs his hair, and sun kisses his half-bare shoulders. Ignis’s lips quirk at the fleeting thought of them becoming as freckled as Prompto’s. _Impossible, they’ll just get their little dusting that no one’ll notice but me._

Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth take him and drifts off.

> _Lost, broken, and all alone in the world, Ignis meets a dark-haired beauty who wraps him in a rose-scented embrace and kisses the tears from his eyes. “Those who can die,” the beauty says, “are lucky. He’s far beyond my reach now.” Pale, slender hands slide a ring onto his finger like a proposal._
> 
> _“Why won’t you save him?” Ignis asks._
> 
> _The beauty smiles, presses petalsoft lips to his forehead. “You’re like a flame in all this darkness.”_

Breezes shake the tree, dancing light across Ignis’s eyelids. For a brief moment, he sees the face of a pale, black-haired boy. The boy’s determined mouth leaks blood as a shimmering trident appears and punctures his skull.

Ignis wakes with a start.

_What was that just now?_

He tries to remember, but the image fades as quickly as it flashed. A shiver tears through him, and he pulls his jacket on to fight the chill snaking its way into his blood.

As he stands and brushes the grass from his pants, Ignis notices a spray of red rose petals on the ground. A quick glance around confirms that there are no roses anywhere in sight. _Maybe they blew over here?_ The wind picks up again, and a petal brushes the back of his hand. Another flutters past his cheek. He follows the trail, looking up.

Above Insomnia Academy, a platform rises where roses fall like rain.

A nearby elevator chimes, its door sliding open to beckon him. He steps inside and rides it to the top, emerging in front of a long suspended staircase. Those stairs lead him further up and out into the sky, toward a gate that resembles the academy’s rose crest design split by an elaborate winged sword. Toward the memory of his beloved, who gave him his ring so long ago.

He crosses the threshold and gasps. Thousands upon thousands of roses carpet the ground. Most are red, but Ignis sees other varieties, too—some in colors he had no idea roses grew in. The scent is heavenly, nostalgic. He walks to the very edge and looks out to the horizon. _From so high up, it almost feels like I can see the entire world. How is it I’ve never noticed this place before?_

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Ignis turns around. Standing a few feet behind him is a young man in a standard-issue high school uniform. His black hair is gathered in a messy ponytail, a white rose tucked behind his ear. He grips a watering can in his hands and tilts his head. Blue eyes stare with a mixture of concern and delighted fascination.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he repeats. “The height.”

“Not really. The view is incredible, and these roses—”

“Ah!” The young man smiles, sets the can down, walks toward the edge where Ignis stands. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful!”

“They’re mine, each and every one. I grow them, I keep them, I love them, but the truth is—shh, don’t tell anyone—I’m held captive by them.” He winks, removes the white rose from behind his ear, extends it like an offering. “Here. Now I have one less captor.”

“Thank you.” Ignis accepts the rose, inhales its scent. _It really is the same, the same as my beloved’s scent!_

“It’s unusual for someone like you to just show up. What have you come to accomplish?”

“Nothing. I just followed the roses.”

Ignis cannot read the strange look he receives in response. “That can’t be right. No one just follows the roses. They have a reason, a purpose. They—”

“Caelum! What are you doing?”

“Master Ravus!” the dark-haired man— _Caelum? Where have I heard that name?_ —says, flinching back and scampering toward the man entering the gate.

Tall and pale in a bespoke uniform of black, gold, and green to signify his status, Ravus Nox Fleuret, Vice President of Insomnia Academy’s Student Council, cuts a figure that dominates the garden. Even its beautiful roses can neither eclipse nor soften him.

“And you! What right do you have to—” His grey eyes search Ignis, then flicker with recognition. “Ah, forgive me. I didn’t see your credentials. It seems you _are_ authorized to enter the Dueling Garden after all. I assume you’ve come to stake a claim on the Rose Bridegroom?”

“Rose…Bridegroom?”

A smirk twists his lips. “You wear the Ring of the Lucian Rose and don’t even know that? What an intriguing fellow!”

“What do you mean—”

Ravus casually holds up his hand, showing off a ring identical to Ignis’s and silencing him at once.

_But how? I thought mine was the only one!_

“Did you hear that, Caelum? A Duelist doesn’t know who you belong to. Why don’t you show him?”

Ignis watches as the emotion drains from Caelum’s face. “As you say, Master Ravus.” He unbuttons his jacket, slides it back to lay bare a throat peppered in hickeys and bite marks. Bends his neck to the side to expose a section of unblemished skin.

Ravus wraps an arm around the slender man’s shoulders and pulls him close, licking and nibbling the pale stretch. A wanton grunt escapes him, and he all but tears at the skin with his teeth. The dark-haired man yelps and twists away, grasping at his neck. Ignis can see blood oozing from between the fingers.

“Master Ravus, I—”

“You fucking brat!” He backhands Caelum so hard, the young man collapses into the roses.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat your boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend? _Boyfriend_? The Rose Bridegroom is _property_!”

“Are you sick? People aren’t property!”

“If you have a problem with the way I treat my things,” Ravus says with a dismissive wave, “then settle it with a duel. Otherwise, leave this garden and let me handle my willful Bridegroom.”

“Fine.” Ignis grabs a broom from the ground, stomps the head off, and holds the handle that remains like a sword. “Then I challenge you to a duel for the honor of that young man there.”

Ravus’s laugh is rich, almost bewitching in its musicality. “You’re actually serious! This might be the most fun I’ve had in weeks! Caelum, why don’t you prepare us?”

The dark-haired man refastens his collar. Walking over, he plucks the white rose from Ignis’s other hand and slips it into Ignis’s breast pocket. “The first to have the rose knocked from their chest loses,” he says, a twinge of concern in his voice, “but I’d strongly advise you to withdraw.”

“Never,” Ignis says. “I can’t stand to see someone treated so badly.”

With a shrug, Caelum returns to Ravus’s side, picks a nearby rose in pale green, and tucks it in Ravus’s breast pocket.

“My sword, Bridegroom.”

Caelum clasps his hands in front of his chest as if in prayer. “Rose of the noble Citadel.” Light erupts from his heart, and he spreads his arms out. “Power of Somnus that sleeps within me. Heed your master and come forth!”

Ravus tucks his arm behind the smaller man’s back, supporting him as he leans back. Dips him even lower as the hilt of a sword emerges from his chest. As Ravus draws it, he says, “Grant me the power to bring the light of revolution!”

The clouds above part, revealing an inverted skyscraper shimmering like a mirage.

Ignis is shocked by the upside-down building, not to mention the pair’s transformed clothes and the sword in Ravus’s hand, which looks exactly like the one depicted in the garden’s gate. “What in the world?”

“Oh, never mind the Citadel up there. Think of it as a trick of the light. Don’t let it distract you from our business.” Ravus assumes a fighting stance as bells— _are those wedding bells?_ —toll in the distance.

He lunges; Ignis parries. The wood of the handle is thick and sturdy enough to absorb the initial shock, but Ignis can tell immediately that it won’t stand up to repeated assaults. “Wait, that weird trick sword is real?”

“To think you honestly believed you could defeat the Sword of the Father with a _broom_!” Ravus presses his advantage with a flurry of strikes, and it’s all Ignis can do to keep up.

 _Makes me wish I had opted for fencing or kendo instead of gymnastics,_ he thinks wildly. _Actually…_

Ignis launches into a backwards flip, avoiding an attack with most of Ravus’s weight behind it. He lands just in time to raise his broom toward the sword rushing to slash his torso open. The blade deviates from its deadly path, merely slicing a hole in Ignis’s uniform and missing the rose on his chest. The handle splits, however, leaving only a few inches of splintered wood.

“I guess that’s the end of your little escapade. If it makes you feel better, you’ve been a great distraction.” Ravus licks his lower lip, and his smile is sinful. “You know, I wouldn’t mind playing a little more. I’ll give you my number, if you want it. I so _enjoy_ breaking white knights like you under me.”

Ignis grinds his teeth. _How dare he! Just for that—_

He launches himself at Ravus with a yell.

Hears a voice shout, “No, look out!”

Suddenly, he’s on the other side of Ravus. Rose unblemished. Broken broom dangling from his grip.

And Ravus’s pale green rose scatters to the peals of bells.

Ravus collapses to his knees and stares in shock, unable to process what’s just happened. The Sword of the Father fades out of his hands, his clothes transform back, and his black-haired Bridegroom looks down at him, his expression now cold and distant instead of wide-eyed and nervous.

“Please take care of yourself, Vice President Fleuret. Good evening.” He bows, spins sharply on heel, and walks through the garden gate.

“Caelum!” Ravus shouts. “Get back here!”

But Caelum doesn’t turn.

“Hmph. Maybe next time,” Ignis says, “you’ll think twice about how you treat people.”

“Mind your fucking business.”

* * *

Across the way, a muscular man with dark hair gazes at the Dueling Garden through binoculars.

He gasps at the unknown man’s miraculous triumph over Ravus, the now-former Champion. Even though he watched it happen, he still can’t figure out how it could have been possible.

It has to be the power of Somnus, the light of revolution.

“Such potential,” he says, “in such a beautiful body. I must keep my eyes on him.”

* * *

Ignis sees no sign of Caelum anywhere near the Dueling Garden when he leaves. After several minutes of searching, he gives up and heads back to his dorm. Slips off his shoes, plops into his desk chair, takes what feels like the deepest breath of his life.

“What a day,” he says to the empty room. “Hope that guy’s okay.”

He starts undressing for bed. Halfway through pulling off his undershirt, someone knocks on his door.

“I don’t want to see your new lenses now, Prompto. Show me tomorrow.”

“Master…Ignis?”

 _Is that—_ Ignis shuffles over to the door and opens it. Sure enough, it’s Caelum. “There you are!” he says. “I was worried when you disappeared.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Allow me to formally introduce myself.” He bows. “Master Ignis Scientia, my name is Noctis Lucis Caelum. I am the Rose Bridegroom, and from this day forward, I am your flower.”

“ _What_?”

But Caelum— _no, Noctis,_ Ignis corrects himself—doesn’t answer. Instead, he barges past, letting his hand skim across a bit of Ignis’s exposed torso, and enters the room. “What a great space,” he says, clapping his hands. “You’ve only just moved in, and it’s already so tidy and perfect! This’ll be an adjustment from the Fleuret residence, but I love how cozy it is.”

“Wait, how did you find me? How do you know my name?”

Noctis glances over his shoulder as he prowls the room, drags slow fingers over walls and furniture. “I followed you home and read your name off the door, silly.”

Ignis blinks, swallows. “Well, y-you can’t be here!”

“Why not?”

“I was getting ready for bed, and I don’t invite people to my room this late.”

“Oh.” He pauses before sauntering toward Ignis. “I assumed you’d want me to spend the night since the Student Council will be placing me in your room tomorrow.”

“Placing you—I was given dispensation for a single!”

“But it’s part of the Code.”

“Code? What Code?”

Noctis gives him a patient look, like an adult explaining something incredibly simple to a child. “The Code of the Lucian Rose. Those who wear the Ring and participate in duels are honor-bound to follow it. And since we’re engaged, we must live together.”

“You keep saying ‘engaged.’ What does that even mean?”

“I’m the Rose Bridegroom.” Noctis holds up one finger. “You’re the Champion.” He extends a second finger. “I’m your flower, and that makes us engaged.” He brings the two fingers together. “I belong to you now.” With a smile, he kisses the tips of those fingers and extends them to touch Ignis’s nose.

“Stop that! People don’t just belong to people!” Ignis removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Look, it’s late, and a lot has happened. I really need some sleep. Do you have a place to stay that isn’t here or Ravus’s?”

“I do.”

“Then please, go there, and we can pick this up tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll complete my duties and go.”

“What duties could you possibly have at this hour?”

He closes the distance between them, working Ignis’s belt and zipper open with alarming speed and lowering himself to his knees. “Just let me know how best to please you,” he whispers.

“Stop!” Ignis recoils, shoves him back.

Noctis’s face contorts with shock— _is that anger there, too?_ —as he asks, “Is this not what you wanted?”

“No! J-j-just go! Get out of here! Now!” But when he sees tears in the corners of those blue eyes, Ignis softens his voice. “Come back tomorrow, okay? I promise we’ll talk then. But you need to leave, please.”

“As you say, Master Ignis. My apologies. I’ll return in the morning.” He rises, bows, and exits.

Ignis shuts the door quickly. Changes. Tries not to linger on how the glide of fabric sets matches to his nerves. On how the scent of roses hangs in the air like jewels on a pale throat. On how Noctis’s hands had touched everything, everything, _everything—_

 _—no! I can’t, I shouldn’t._ He unbuttons his pajama shirt, loosens the tie on his pants, but denies himself any more than that. Only coolness. The evaporation of sweat. Deep breaths and detached questions: _Where do I know the name Noctis Lucis Caelum from? Is it because of the Lucian Rose? Those marks on his neck—were those all Ravus? How long have these so-called Duelists been passing him around? He acts like he’s been at this for years. What kind of life has he lead?_

As the hot thrum of blood settles into a slow, easy cadence, sleep finally takes him. Ignis dreams an ocean the color of Noctis’s eyes. It laps palest sands, pink and purple shells scattered like love bites. He walks that shore, marvels at how soft and welcoming the sand feels, how he longs to swim in the blue, blue waves. Sometimes he bends over to touch the water covering his feet, but he dares not venture in. No matter how much he thirsts, he fears he will never return. That his body is made of stone that will sink the moment it is immersed in that azure dark. That he will drown and he will not care and he will drown and he will not care and he will drown and he will not care and he will drown and he will love it.

* * *

“This one is different. I didn’t choose him.”

Noctis’s eyes widen, but he says nothing.

“He didn’t even draw the Sword of the Father.”

Noctis purses his lips, remaining silent.

“Yet he still won.”

Noctis shrinks away from the voice in the semidark.

“It was magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.”

Noctis nods.

“Do you know something you aren’t telling me, Noct?”

Noctis shakes his head, though even if he did—

“You don’t, but you wouldn’t tell me if you did, would you?”

Noctis nods again.

“Why do you insist on tormenting me? No matter. Come to me, my love.”

Noctis takes a step back.

Strong hands drag him forward and tear his uniform open.

“I said come!”

“…yes!”

And Noctis does, his body writhing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [aiko_lpez](https://twitter.com/aiko_lpez)'s amazing cover art for the fic is linked [here](https://app.box.com/s/mqmvgq31oompg8gsouk2qdfg7lf9wpux), just in case you missed it in the opening notes. Please take a look, and make sure you go tell her how much you love it!
> 
> The Dueling Garden and [the first half of Ravus's duel](https://youtu.be/af-EtC2joTs) are perhaps my biggest nods to the movie—the [bizarre architecture](https://www.pinterest.com/lucianlubrarian/this-rose-is-our-destiny/architecture/) is just so gorgeous and really works for the story I tell—but fear not! Ravus isn't going anywhere, unlike Saionji in the movie.
> 
> Chapter 1's cursed content, with (no) thanks to [demishock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demishock): for added fun, imagine Ravus singing, "Hey I just met you / and this is crazy / but here's my number / so call me gayly" during his duel. You're welcome.


	2. duel 02 :: patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meetings. classes. what happens in the spaces between.

_at the bottom of the ocean lies a grand history_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Paleozoic within the Body” (trans. Takayama Miyuki)  
  
  
  


Ignis sets the table for two, expecting Noctis. It’s a hunch, assuming the Rose Bridegroom has been trained to be prompt—that when he’s told _tomorrow_ , he’s to interpret that as _first thing._

His hunch is correct. As soon as he’s ready to eat, someone rings the bell at the front desk. “Noctis, is that you?”

Noctis pokes his head around the corner and smiles. Ignis notices he has a pale pink rose behind his ear today. “Good morning! Is it alright if I leave my things at the front for now?”

“Umm, sure. Breakfast is on the table, so why don’t you join me?”

“As you say, Master Ignis.” He finds the setting opposite Ignis’s and waits.

 _What—is he waiting for me?_ Ignis sits down, and Noctis immediately takes his seat. “You know, you don’t have to do that,” Ignis says.

He cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Ignis rubs the bridge of his nose. _Perhaps this isn’t worth fighting him on. He needs more extensive deprogramming than just this one thing._ “Never mind. Did you sleep well? How’s your neck?”

“It’s been cleaned and should heal just fine. Do not trouble yourself. I’m used to such things.”

“No one should be used to caring for _bite wounds_!”

“Master Ignis, you’re so innocent!” Noctis giggles. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Duelist like you before.”

 _There—there’s my opening._ “Noctis, would you please tell me more about the Duelists and this Code you mentioned last night? I need to understand what I’ve gotten myself into.”

“My apologies, but were you not informed of the rules of the Dueling Game when End of Night sent your ring?”

“Dueling…Game? End of…Night?”

“Oh. Oh my.” Noctis sets down his fork and gazes upon his Champion with pity. “You really don’t know. How in the world did you get a Ring of the Lucian Rose?”

Ignis shakes his head and gives the Bridegroom a small, downcast smile. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, Master Ignis, why don’t we both do our best to summarize?”

* * *

The elevator to the Student Council chambers rises.

“If it cannot break its egg’s shell,” says President Gladiolus Amicitia, “a chick will die in the dark without being born.”

“We are the chick. The world is our egg,” says Vice President Ravus Nox Fleuret.

“If we don’t crack the world’s shell, we will die in the dark without being born,” Secretary Lunafreya Nox Fleuret says.

“Smash the world’s shell!” Treasurer Aranea Highwind says.

“For the sake of the light of revolution!” they say in unison.

Gladio drapes himself over the chair at the head of their conference table and unbuttons his suit jacket, exposing chiseled abs. “So, we’re waiting. Who is the new Champion?”

“Ignis Scientia.” Luna’s grin is smug. “Looks like I’m the only one of us who knows a thing about him because I actually care about academics.”

“I take it he’s smart then,” Aranea says.

“Indeed. First-year high school. Top scorer. Excels in swimming, gymnastics, and basketball. Incredibly popular among the student body. Apparently, they call him the Prince.”

“You mean I lost to your secret nemesis?” Ravus practically slithers out of his chair and into his sister’s lap. Touches their foreheads together, buries hands in her hair, and stares into her eyes as he says, “We can’t have _that_. Let me challenge him to a rematch. I’ll make him _bleed_ for you. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

“Please, brother, I do not require all that.”

“Mmm, then maybe just _some_ of it?” He moves toward the side of her head, presses the softest of kisses to her earlobe. “How much?”

Aranea stands, hauls Ravus up by his jacket, and drops him two chairs away from Luna. “Your sister gave you an answer, Ravus. Surely your fangs can find a better neck?”

“Thank you, Aranea. I appreciate you tending to our Vice President’s distracting behavior.” Gladio spins in his chair to face Ravus. “On a related note, as End of Night’s chosen few, we must all hold ourselves to the standards of the Code of the Lucian Rose. Certainly one may do as one pleases with the Rose Bridegroom during engagement, but one should not go too far. I’m certain End of Night would not be pleased to hear that some of us are not treating the Bridegroom respectfully.”

Ravus sneers. “Why don’t you just come out and say what you want to say, Gladio?”

“Fine. Don’t think I’m unaware of your abuse of the Bridegroom. Do it again—engaged or not—and I’ll cut your sword arm off.”

“You’re just jealous you weren’t taking advantage of that pliant little body.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh wait, that’s right. You _tried_ to but couldn’t defeat me.”

“Councilors!” Luna slams her palms onto the table. “Enough. It does us no good to squabble. Let’s keep any and all discord to the Dueling Garden, shall we?”

Aranea smiles, slides the latest letter from End of Night across the table. “Indeed, especially when another duel is expected soon. Ravus, do you really plan to rechallenge the newcomer?”

“I suppose not,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “I abhor disappointing my sister, and clearly she doesn’t want me bothering her nemesis.”

“Gladio?” Aranea turns to the president, raises an eyebrow. “He does seem very much your type. I could see you working your wiles.”

“Quite the beauty, to be sure. But for now, I’m much more interested in observing. Aranea, you’re out, of course. Everyone knows the Bridegroom disgusts you.” Gladio sits up. “Could it be? Lunafreya?”

“I have no plans at the moment.”

“You could make them,” Ravus says.

Luna crosses her arms and frowns. “If you’re suggesting I make plans to fight Ignis Scientia for the Rose Bridegroom, you’re better off suggesting I make plans to leap from the Dueling Garden. The chances are about the same.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Let’s just see what the future holds,” Gladio says. “There’s still plenty of time for one of us to change our minds. So, if there’s no other business, then I believe we are adjourned. Lunafreya, make sure you put in the paperwork to have Noctis transferred to the Champion’s quarters today.”

“Of course. He’s already collected his things and vacated as of early this morning.”

“So soon?”

Ravus rolls his eyes. “Well, you know Caelum. He works fast. Didn’t even bother coming back last night.”

“To be fair, dear brother, I wouldn’t either if I were him. Your temper is legendary. Oh, don’t go too far—I’ll need your signature on these forms.”

“I guess we’re done for the day. A pleasure, Councilors.” Gladio opens his phone and texts back a pair of girls who’d messaged him during the meeting. Buttoning his jacket just enough to cover his torso, he shoots Ravus one last lingering glare before leaving.

Aranea stands, places a hand on Luna’s chair. “Hey,” she says softly. “Do you need me to stick around and keep an extra pair of eyes on Ravus? Maybe it’s the loss, but he seems extra—”

“Incorrigible?” Luna laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m used to his moods.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I appreciate it, Aranea. Really. But you know me—I can take care of myself.”

 _They call me the Dragon,_ Aranea thinks, _but the rest don’t know you’re a velvet glove over a tight fist, do they?_ “Of course. I’ll see you at Fencing Club later.”

As she leaves, closing the chamber door, she considers staying behind. Waiting in the hallway for Ravus to make another stupid move. _But then what? You sweep in and save her? From what? Luna’s no simpering beauty. She doesn’t need you to handle her brother._

_You’re a damned fool, Highwind._

So Aranea rides the elevator alone and lets her fellow Councilor do what she must.

* * *

Noctis places a hand on Ignis’s shoulder as they walk from the dormitories to the main campus. “Master Ignis, are you okay? You’ve barely spoken since breakfast.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Ignis cracks a tiny smile. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“It’s a lot to take in. I’m sure the rest of the Duelists had similar reactions the first time they saw the Dueling Garden and the Citadel in the sky.”

“And we’re all supposed to carry on like normal students, right?”

“Not quite normal, but that’s the basic idea.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Ignis sighs. “None of this seems real, I feel like I’ve made enemies of the entire Student Council without meaning to, and I still have all my classes to worry about on top of it.”

Before Noctis can answer, Ignis feels a hard slap to his ass. “Iggy! You won’t _believe_ the pictures I took yesterday with these new lenses!” Prompto circles around, and his jaw drops when he sees the young man walking beside Ignis. “Oh! Wait, don’t tell me. You’re…Noctis Lucis Caelum, right?”

“That’s right.” Noctis smiles. “Prompto Argentum, if I’m not mistaken?”

“At your service!” Prompto flips him a jaunty salute.

“Hang on.” Ignis frowns, looking between the Bridegroom and his oldest friend. “How do you two know each other?”

“Damn, Iggy, where you been? Noctis is in our class.”

“Yes, and I remember Prompto because he resembles someone I knew many years ago.”

 _Maybe that’s why his name is so familiar,_ Ignis thinks. _Then why didn’t I remember him yesterday? It’s not like that face of his is forgettable, and I would never have ignored that scent…_

Prompto assumes a place at Ignis’s other side as they continue their walk. “Gotta say, though, I’m a little upset that you’re heading to school with someone besides me.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself over that,” says Noctis. “Master Ignis and I are roommates now, so it’s convenient for us to walk together.”

“ _Master_ Ignis?” Prompto laughs. “Wow, dude, no need to be so formal! But heads up, Iggy’s my girlfriend, so don’t even think about trying to steal him.”

Noctis laughs. “Is that so?”

“Once again,” Ignis says through gritted teeth, “I am not your _girlfriend!_ ”

“Iggy doesn’t know what he’s saying. Seriously, though, Noct—you mind if I call you Noct?—I’ve known this guy for _years_. If you ever want to know the embarrassing shit that’ll make him do whatever you want, you just ask. I’ve got stories that’ll get me _killed_ if I repeat them.”

“Then don’t repeat them, Prompto,” says Ignis, his voice low, “and you won’t get killed.”

“By the way, my girlfriend _rocks_ a miniskirt and thigh-high boots, and I have the pictures to prove it.”

“Prompto,” Noctis says with a bright grin, “please name what you think is a fair price for said pictures, and I will happily pay it.”

“I hate you both so much.”

* * *

Luna resists the urge to punch a wall as she watches her brother wander onto the spacious terrace overlooking the academy. She doesn’t entirely blame him; not only is transfer paperwork tedious, the terrace view is one of the finest on campus. One could argue that it is superior to the Dueling Garden’s because one can peer into the garden with binoculars, but the angle there is very different. Luna knows, having once watched the sun rise from the garden in the early days of the Dueling Game.

There, she met Noctis as he came to water the roses before classes. Was struck by how the light made him look immaterial, fey. But when she reached out to touch him, her fingers met flesh instead of passing through him.

“Secretary Fleuret?” he’d said, head slightly tilted.

 _He’s real, and not unlike a curious pup,_ she’d thought. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she’d smiled and said, “Nothing. Enjoy your day.”

This was all before she and Noctis had grown close, before she’d become _Miss Luna_ , before he’d come to see her as the eye of the Ravus Nox Fleuret hurricane.

None of that matters now, though, because her brother has lost his Champion status and refuses to stay put long enough to make completing the paperwork an orderly process.

“Ravus,” she says with more steel in her voice than usual, “stop wandering off. I have other things I’d like to accomplish today.”

“There are chairs and a table out here, dear sister.” His voice is clear but has the tinny echo of distance. “Come! Get some fresh air! You stay cooped up far too often.”

As much as she loathes indulging him— _he treats every victory like ten_ —she does have places to be. So she joins him on the terrace, taking a seat in the wrought-iron chair with an overdramatic huff.

“Is being around me such a chore?” Ravus asks, twirling a chair around so he can straddle it while folding hands over the back. “You seem so stiff.”

“If I seem that way, it’s because I would much rather be done with this.”

His expression softens. “I know, I know. Once again, you’re cleaning up the mess your spoiled, frivolous brother has made.”

“It’s not a mess,” Luna says, “so much as an inconvenience, but then again, no one expected a new Duelist to challenge you out of nowhere.”

“I still have no idea how I lost!”

“Give it time, brother. Let others make their challenges. Observe from the sidelines. Try again once you’ve gathered enough intelligence. In the meantime—” She slides over the document stack and a black-ink pen. “—sign everywhere you see a blue tab. You’re required to provide a detailed narrative explaining the transfer, but I’ve taken the liberty of completing that.”

He takes Luna’s hand and kisses it. Strokes his thumb over her knuckles. “You’re a wonder.”

“Save your praise,” she says, gently pulling her hand away, “for when you complete these.”

“Of course.” Ravus takes pen in hand. Signs the first page and flips ahead, seeking additional tabs.

Luna stands, circles the table. Behind her brother. Leans forward, bracing an arm alongside his idle one, and peers over his shoulder. When she feels his breath hitch at the pressure of her breasts against his back, she smiles. _Just the reaction I wanted._ “Next page, Ravus. Middle and bottom.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice a little more strained.

“Two pages ahead now. Just a single signature at the bottom. By the way, I’ve noticed that you’re much bolder in your affections when you have an audience. A voyeuristic streak, perhaps? I’m sure you’ve noticed that I—” She places her hand over his, curls her tongue at the corner of his lips, retreats when he tries to capture her mouth with his. “—have no such tendencies.”

“Lunafreya…”

“Finish.”

“ _Please_.”

“I said _finish_.”

No man ever did paperwork more thoroughly and efficiently in the history of the universe.

Ravus hands her the stack. She thumbs through, checking each blue tab for a matching signature. With a smile, she places the papers back onto the table and pockets the pen. “Satisfactory. Thank you.”

“Luna, wait.” He grabs her wrist, pulls her into his lap, grinds his half-hard cock into her ass. “You’ve been teasing me all morning, ever since Caelum left.” One hand turns her face toward his, bringing their mouths together in a messy kiss. The other snakes into her jacket to grab a handful of breast.

She indulges Ravus for a few moments. Loosens another button on her jacket to allow him greater access. Moans into his mouth as she rocks her hips. Then, she twists out of his grip and kicks out the legs from his chair. He tumbles onto the terrace floor.

“Sorry, dear brother,” she says, fixing her uniform as she gathers the papers and walks toward the elevator. “You simply aren’t on my list of things to do today.”

* * *

Ignis understands why he missed Noctis in his classes. The Bridegroom sits in the very back next to no one—in fact, there are empty desks surrounding him on all sides—and says absolutely nothing to anyone unless directly addressed. And no one directly addresses him. It’s clear that Noctis has few, if any, friends.

As the day goes on, he notices that the teacher never calls on Noctis. Besides him—and now Prompto—not a single person in the room even spares him a glance. Lessons fly by like so many blackboards on conveyors, and he finds himself responding to messages from Prompto on his laptop between bouts of note-taking and question-answering.

> **dude i thought u got a single**  
>  **for ur cool loner lifestyle**
> 
> **I did.**  
>  **Student Council transferred Noctis in today.**  
>  **Just got notice last night.**
> 
> **wait they gave u a single and took it away?**  
>  **that’s rude af**  
>  **did u piss off someone?**
> 
> **I might have made an enemy of Ravus Nox Fleuret.**  
>  **Long story, but it was an accident, I swear.**  
>  **Watch out, you’re going to be called on next.**
> 
> **o shit thx**  
>  **glad i stayed up and did those translations**  
>  **wait ravus?**  
>  **as in student council vp ravus?**  
>  **o shit dude**  
>  **it all makes sense now**  
>  **u know the rumors about him and noct right?**
> 
> **What rumors?**
> 
> **they say noct is ravus’s bf**  
>  **well off and on**  
>  **they’re always breaking up**  
>  **he and noct are prob on the outs**  
>  **so he’s punishing u both by rooming u**

Ignis knows he can’t tell Prompto the truth— _how could I even begin to explain the Dueling Garden and the Rose Bridegroom and the Code of the Lucian Rose without sounding delusional?_ —so he looks over at Prompto and nods subtly.

> **guess it could b worse**  
>  **noct doesn’t seem that bad**  
>  **nothing like the snob rep he has**  
>  **just kinda weird and shy tbh**

He braves a longer look toward the back of the classroom and notices Noctis staring with a delighted smile. A new message notification pops up. Ignis accepts.

> **Master Ignis, this is wonderful!**  
>  **I’ve never experienced this before.**  
>  **Are all your classes like this?**
> 
> **What do you mean?**
> 
> **The chatting.**  
>  **Plus you and Prompto.**  
>  **It’s such fun to watch the two of you.**  
>  **And he is an absolute delight to talk to!**
> 
> **No, usually things are quieter than this.**  
>  **We have a lot to talk about today.**  
>  **Wait, you’re chatting with Prompto?**
> 
> **Yes, he’s a treasure trove of information.**  
>  **For example, I had no idea you could cook.**  
>  **I don’t cook much but can make some basic dishes.**  
>  **We must make dinner together sometime.**  
>  **Or tea. I pride myself on excellent tea services.**
> 
> **Noctis, you don’t need to cook for me.**  
>  **Or make me tea.**  
>  **You don’t have to do anything.**
> 
> **Master Ignis.**  
>  **I am the Rose Bridegroom.**  
>  **Serving you is my calling.**  
>  **And my absolute pleasure.**

Ignis takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples with his forefingers and his jaw with his thumbs. _What do I even say to that?_

“Scientia! Is my class so boring that you feel the need to give yourself a massage?”

He snaps upright. “No, sir!”

“Then maybe you should come up here and demonstrate how to find the common tangent between these two circles.”

Ignis steps up to the board, works his way through the problem, explaining each step as he proceeds. As he reaches the last stage of reduction in the Pythagorean Theorem, he says, “Of course, if you already know the 5:12:13 family, you can skip straight to multiplying twelve by four to arrive at x=48.”

The teacher grunts in satisfaction. “Excellent work. See that you don’t look so distracted in the future, so I have no reason to put you on the spot.”

When Ignis returns to his seat, he sees three messages waiting for him:

> **Apologies, Master Ignis.**  
>  **I did not mean to cause you trouble.**
> 
> **lol busted**

* * *

> **Are you alone?**
> 
> **No, should I be?**
> 
> **I want to see you.**
> 
> **Business?**  
>  **Or did your queen deny you again?**
> 
> **Fuck you.**
> 
> **But of course.**  
>  **This one’s not as fun as you.**  
>  **Five minutes.**  
>  **You know where.**

Ravus closes his message app and chuckles. Of course, Gladio would choose the alumni center; no one uses it without an appointment, and he’s in charge of scheduling those appointments.

He waits quietly, smiling to the empty room, until Gladio slips through the door. His jacket is, as usual, half-open—pectorals and abdominals barely masked by black, red, and gold.

Ravus clicks his tongue. “You’re early.”

Gladio raises an eyebrow. “And you have that look about you again.”

“Which one?”

“The one that says you think you’re better than me despite being desperate for a rigorous fuck. So, go ahead—tell me why you’re so much better than me today.”

“You’re so predictable.” Ravus strides forward, sinks his hands in Gladio’s hair, yanks his head straight back to expose his neck. “You’re early, which means you were probably upstairs. You fucked your girl from behind the whole time so you could check your phone. Finished on her back so she’d get pissed and want to leave. Sent her down the back stairs so you could circle around to me. Now, how right am I?”

“Right on most counts, but _he_ —not she, Ravus—secretly loves it when I finish on his back.” Gladio moans as Ravus lightly scrapes his teeth down toward his collarbone. “I see you’ve already found your prize.”

“Also predictable, to call yourself a prize.” Ravus releases Gladio’s hair, presses a chaste kiss against his shoulder before backing away for a moment. “You saw something during my duel with Scientia.”

 _He knows,_ Gladio thinks, _but there’s no way he could see me from the Dueling Garden, right?_ “Even if I did, what makes you think I would tell you?”

“You’ve never withheld an advantage of technique. You prefer to keep your advantages invisible.”

Gladio affects the most caustic smirk he can manage. “Is that so?”

“Predictable men do predictable things.”

“If I’m so predictable, why haven’t you already won the light of revolution?”

Ravus narrows his eyes, grabs Gladio by his lapels. “Predictability is no help against conspiracy. I know someone’s helping you. Who is it? Is it Caelum?”

“That weak little _princess_?” Gladio laughs, trying to hide how close to the artery Ravus has struck. “If only you could hear yourself. I swear your pretty queen is making you paranoid, seeing black roses around every corner.”

“Leave Luna,” he hisses, “out of this.”

“Only if you promise to stop manhandling my nice clothes.” Gladio untangles Ravus’s hands from his jacket and brings them to his lips. “There are much more interesting uses for these long fingers of yours.”

“Ahh, I see.” Ravus rubs an index finger against the flat of Gladio’s tongue, dragging it out of his mouth, down his neck to circle an exposed nipple. “Is this more like what you had in mind?”

“Perhaps.”

He gives the nipple a squeeze. “Don’t lie.”

“Yes.”

“That’s better. Step back, there’s a couch behind you. I’ll guide you.”

Gladio’s chuckle is deep and resonant, vibrating Ravus down to his toes. “You want me to trust you?”

“What was that you said earlier, about how much fun I am?”

“Something like that.”

“Think of trusting me as part of the fun.”

“Are we only talking about sex, Ravus?”

“We were never _just_ talking about sex. I thought you knew that.”

“I did,” Gladio says, falling backwards into the couch with Ravus astride him. He throws his head back, jacket and pants falling open. “Just making sure you still understood the rules of the game.”

Pale hands wind themselves into dark locks, ratcheting Gladio’s tan throat into a long line of flesh for Ravus’s teeth to ravish. His hips move like a wave cresting the sea. “Gladiolus, _my dear old friend_ , I’ve never understood them better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Ravus is my Saionji equivalent, but I couldn't get away with making Luna my Miki equivalent and not mix in a big ol' shot of Kozue. (Luna's far less innocent than Miki, though, as you can see.)
> 
>  _Utena_ would have to be a bit different with smartphones. Then again, that's kind of how we get _Yurikuma Arashi_ , right?
> 
> Chapter 2's cursed content: [the nature of the slow burn, summarized in a single intarwebz classic](https://youtu.be/ENnAa7rqtBM).


	3. duel 03 :: re/action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two after-school activities. two outcomes. uncomfortable questions and their unexpected answers. a deal is struck.

_man is described by the blood of “make-believe”_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Seal Spell” (trans. Yotaka)  
  
  
  


“Best tree, best lunch spot!” Prompto all but dives beneath the tree and then pats the ground next to him. “Hey Iggy, you gonna come curl into my lap so I can play with your hair?”

“Aren’t you busy spilling all my secrets to Noctis?”

“I can multitask,” Prompto says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ignis laughs in spite of himself. “No thanks, it’s too hard to eat if I’m in your lap.”

“Oh yeah. Good call, dude. Noct, sit down already! You’re making me nervous!”

 _That’s right,_ Ignis thinks, _he’s waiting on me._ He takes a seat beside Prompto and digs out his lunch. “Oh, Noctis, did you have time to prepare something? I’m happy to share if you didn’t have time with all that packing and—”

“No need!” Noctis sits and removes something wrapped in wax paper from his bag. Peels the paper back to reveal a thick, meat-stuffed sandwich on pan-seared bread. “I put together a little lunch before I left for the Fleuret residence.”

“Whoa,” says Prompto. “That looks deliciously unhealthy. I’m kind of jealous.”

“You made that _before_ you went to Ravus’s?” Ignis shakes his head. “What time did you get up?”

“Oh, I didn’t sleep last night. Too much to accomplish.” Noctis chomps into his sandwich.

“Fuck, Iggy, you’re gonna need to keep an eye on your Ebony stash with this guy around.” Prompto plucks chunks of meat and vegetable off of his kebabs, tosses them into the air, and catches them in his mouth. “Sounds like he might get less sleep than you do.”

“Do you not sleep much, Master Ignis?”

“Not really.”

“He gets nightmares sometimes. That’s all I know. Hey, Noct, trade you some of my kebabs for a bite of that sandwich.”

“Meat only, no vegetables. I don’t particularly like vegetables.” Noctis passes over the sandwich as Prompto hands over two skewers.

“You _made_ this? It’s unreal—”

“This is so spicy—”

“Shit, should’ve warned you—”

“Oh, I’m not complaining—”

Ignis watches the two with quiet delight. He didn’t expect them to get along so well, and yet now that he sees it, he can’t believe he ever thought otherwise. _They’re just so perfectly matched, in their own strange way. Both so eager, so accommodating._

“Hey, Iggy, what are you having for lunch today?”

“Nothing special, just some mini quiches.”

“Leave it to my magical girlfriend,” says Prompto, waving a cleaned-off skewer like a wand, “to use the phrases ‘mini quiches’ and ‘nothing special’ in the same sentence.”

Noctis sucks the spice off of his fingers before digging back into his sandwich. “How long have you two been dating?”

“By all the gods in the heavens, Noctis, do _not_ encourage him. It’s bad enough dealing with Prompto’s ridiculous commitment to that joke.”

“Personally, I find it endearing. How wonderful it must be to have someone in your life elevate you above all others!”

Prompto sighs, clasps his hands together under his chin like a lovestruck princess. “That’s—wow, Noct, when you say it like that, it’s so romantic!”

“You two,” Ignis says, squirming, “are making me uncomfortable.”

“I don’t quite understand why or how, Master Ignis. We are merely appreciating what a handsome, delightful individual you are.”

“Oh, he isn’t so good with the compliments. That’s why he’s wigging out.”

“Ahh, thank you, Prompto. I’m learning so much from you.” Noctis beams. “I simply must endeavor to overpay you for those pictures as compensation for all your tutoring.”

Prompto laughs, gives Noctis a light shove. “Stop it, dude! I mean, I’ll totally take your money, but don’t be all ‘blah blah endeavor to overcompensate.’ Makes me feel weird, too.”

“Very well. I do apologize, but I must excuse myself. The rose gardens require my attention. Don’t wait for me, as I won’t be returning to classes.”

“You have course waivers to take care of the _roses_?” Prompto’s jaw drops. “I thought they had, y’know, staff for that.”

“They do, but certain cultivars require expert attention.” Noctis shrugs. “I recognize there’s some favoritism at play, but I’m still the primary authority on their care.”

 _Of course he is,_ Ignis thinks. _He’s the Rose Bridegroom, so he probably knows those roses better than anyone here._ He turns to Prompto. “Hey, we playing today?”

“That’s the plan. Why?”

“Noctis, if you wrap up once classes are over, you can meet us back here. We’re gonna play some basketball.”

“As you say, Master Ignis.” Noctis collects his bag and stands. “Enjoy the rest of your lectures, and I look forward to seeing you both in the afternoon.” With that, he bows and heads off in the direction of the Dueling Garden.

“He’s an odd one,” Prompto says once Noctis is out of sight. “Seems like he grew up really sheltered.”

 _Maybe sheltered in some ways, but in others—well, you have no idea, Prompto._ “I mean, I don’t really know a lot about him yet,” Ignis says, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

* * *

“Next!” Aranea’s voice echoes across the salle.

Luna stands at attention, salutes the fencing club member who has come to spar her. The bout doesn’t take long. During the first round, she delivers her riposte after a quick lunge and parry. The second is nearly as fast as the first. Luna’s opponent attempts an appel to throw her off, but she is not startled by his stomp. Instead, she jumps forward from a balestra into a prise de fer, controlling her opponent’s blade with her own and taking the last point.

“Shit, that was excellent, Luna. Wedge, where the fuck were your feet on that?”

Wedge pulls off his mask. “Sorry, Miss Highwind. I couldn’t keep up and lost track of my stance.”

“That’s something you’re going to have to practice, isn’t it?” Aranea thinks for a moment. “You and Biggs seem like a good match. Why don’t you two pair off for now? I want you both working on your footwork. If I don’t see an improvement by next week, I’ll have you polishing everything in the salle—floor to ceiling. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Wedge dashes off to find Biggs.

“That really _was_ a good takedown, Luna,” Aranea says. “Shame to waste it on Wedge.”

Luna giggles. “No takedown is a waste.”

“You know you’re grossly under-ranked this season. You should be number one, not four. Once the tournaments get going, I think the numbers’ll shift in the right direction.”

“Don’t flatter me, Aranea. We both know _you_ should be number one.”

Aranea shakes her head as she grabs a rapier and walks down to the strip. “That’ll never happen. All my best work’s illegal.”

Luna flexes her foil in her hands. “A wise woman once told me that legality only matters to shitty judges who’d die at our hands.”

 _Gods. Could she be any more perfect—and I, any more bewitched?_ Aranea manages to maintain her composure as she slips a mask over her head. “Foil versus rapier? Are you trying to lose? At least grab an épée.”

“Perhaps I enjoy the challenge. En garde!”

The pair trade attacks with ripostes, counterattacks with renewals, reprises with redoublements. Pretty much the entire Fencing Club stops practicing to watch the bout. It’s completely illegal—rapiers are banned, no one would ever allow mismatched weapons to begin with, and Aranea loves body-to-body contact, which is outlawed in foil bouts—but no one cares. They’re captivating. Luna’s all fluid grace with her foil, grazing down Aranea’s blade to guide the tip away from her body. Meanwhile, Aranea is brutal force with her rapier, crushing her arm and hilt into Luna’s chest, even as her blade is diverted.

Power beats elegance this time. Although Luna makes a glorious twist with the pistol grip of her foil in the rapier’s crosspiece, Aranea rotates again into a yielding parry, shoves, and thrusts her tip in Luna’s left shoulder.

“Touché,” Luna says.

The fencers explode in applause and chants of _Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!_

Luna takes off her mask and shakes her blonde hair loose. “And you say you don’t deserve to be called the best in the world. Listen to them.”

“I fought you corps-à-corps with a fucking rapier,” Aranea says as she rips her mask back and runs a hand through her own silver hair. “If I was running foil, you would’ve had me.”

“Maybe. And if I was running épée like you’d suggested, I’d still have lost.” She crosses the strip, reaches up, strokes a hand across Aranea’s cheek. “So take the win, Captain. You know you need that reputation if we’re going to keep the little ones in line.”

Aranea’s eyes widen. _What is she doing?_

“Speaking of, let me get you a legal sword. It’s high time to remind everyone why they call you the Dragon.” She jogs to the sidelines, hooks an épée under the top of her foot, pops it into the air, and catches it. “Club members, line up! Time for drills with your captain! I’ll be studying your footwork. Captain, swap!”

Luna tosses the épée as Aranea lobs over her rapier. She shakes her head, trying to loosen the swoon of Luna’s touch. Pops her neck and slides her mask back in place, lest her blush become too obvious. “Let’s go, my little knights. Time to come fight the Dragon.”

As Aranea takes her place at one end of the strip and wakes for the long line of competitors she’s about to beat, Luna takes a seat and smiles.

“Next!” she says.

* * *

Prompto groans as Ignis hip checks him and sinks another shot. “Man, I don’t know why I bother to play against you. You’re on a whole other level.”

Ignis jogs over to retrieve the basketball and passes it over. “You whine too much. This is how you get better. Besides, that was a foul—learn to call them.”

“You mean that wasn’t incidental contact? You…you _bitch_!”

“The point is to show you how to distinguish between the two. If you’re not learning the difference, you’re at the mercy of the refs.”

“What if they disagree with me?”

“Prompto. Really.” Ignis folds his arms, rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you lost an argument?”

“Well,” Prompto says, idly dribbling the ball back and forth between his hands, “my mother did always say that a real woman can force her logic on any man, so…”

Noctis laughs and claps delightedly from the sidelines. “But I thought Master Ignis was the girlfriend in your relationship!”

Prompto turns red instantly, and Ignis bursts into laughter in time with Noctis. “Oh wow, your freckles! I swear I could count every single one of them right now! Noctis, can you get a picture with my phone?”

“Certainly!”

“Hey, no fair. Now you two are just ganging up on me!” Prompto huffs, jabs a finger in Ignis’s direction. “I’m gonna take my shots now, and then you’ll see—your ass is grass, Iggy.”

He takes a few breaths, willing the redness in his face to fade. Closes his eyes. Opens them to take aim, shoots, and makes the first shot.

“Nice one.” Ignis smiles, slaps the ball back toward Prompto.

He doesn’t take as long to line up for his second free throw but sinks it just as cleanly. As it rebounds, he zooms to meet it. Ignis is there, his long arm reaching, but Prompto manages to sneak under him just in time to grab the ball. He circles, dribbling between his legs, turning to avoid Ignis’s continued attempts to steal. Prompto knows what he lacks in height, he makes up for with speed and a sharpshooter’s eye, and he tries to use his advantages to their fullest now as he strives to impress his best friend.

 _Man, I’ve known Iggy for years,_ he thinks as he lands a layup, _and I’ve never seen him act like this with someone new before. He’s always been slow to trust, but now he’s laughing with this Noctis dude like they’re an old married couple? What gives?_

Ignis blocks Prompto’s next shot, snags the ball, and spins away to take a shot of his own. The ball snakes around the rim, falls through, and Prompto’s there again. So is Ignis, though, and they both jump, ready to tip the ball away.

Instead, they smash into one another and crumble to the ground.

“Ow ow ow—shit, Iggy, watch where you put your tits next time!”

“M-m-my _tits_?” Ignis winces, looking practically scandalized. “Well, for your information, I’m going to have bruises on my ass from that fall. Hope you’re _real_ happy.”

“Fuck you, bro,” Prompto says without any malice. “That’s what you get for tit-punching me.”

“I think the definition of tit-punching is getting punched _in_ the tits, not getting punched _with_ them.”

“Gentlemen, please.” Noctis is by their sides, untangling limbs and assessing wounds. “Master Ignis, let me help you up first. If you’re worried about any contusions and abrasions, I have some skin preparations that will speed healing.”

“Umm…” _Is that how he dealt with Ravus’s biting?_ “I guess I could try it. Thanks.”

Once he gets Ignis to his feet and gives him a quick once-over, he turns his attentions to Prompto. “What about you, Prompto? Any concerns?”

“I think I jammed my left shoulder on that landing. It hurts something fierce.”

“Let’s get you over to the benches and take a look.” Noctis takes great care helping Prompto off the ground and escorting him to the court sidelines. “Sit, lift your arms. I know it hurts.”

Prompto winces as he brings his arms up and yelps as Noctis whips the blond’s shirt over his head.

“Noctis!” Ignis says. “What are you—”

“Quiet, let me check,” he says as Ignis stares in disbelief. Noctis carefully places one palm flat against Prompto’s left shoulder blade and uses the other to manipulate the arm in slow, systematic patterns. “Impingement, I think. To be honest, most treatment regimens for light to moderate shoulder injuries are about the same—limited activity using that shoulder, therapeutic stretches and massage, alternating heat and ice, anti-inflammatories, rest.”

“Whoa, you can tell all that just by looking at it?”

“No, I can feel the movements of your joints and muscles and ligaments under the skin. That’s why I took your shirt off, to feel it better.” Noctis gives Ignis a piercing look. “Stay there for a moment.”

He gets up, walks over to his bag. As he rummages through it, Prompto whispers, “Dude, did you know—”

Ignis shakes his head, throws his hands up. “Not a clue! Not a damn clue!”

“Ahh! Here we are. I apologize in advance for the scent, but I do work with roses a lot.” Noctis opens a small white jar, dips his fingers inside, and scoops out a glob of pinkish cream. Rubs it into his palms. Presses his floral-scented hands into Prompto’s shoulder and begins methodically massaging the flesh.

Prompto hisses air through his teeth. “Hurts.”

“I understand. Just bear it a little longer, and you’ll feel better, I promise.” He keeps massaging. Follows lines of ligaments, cups of joints. Releases tight knots of muscles until the shoulder is loose, soft. For good measure, Noctis gives the right side a little work so it, too, relaxes. Finally, he lets go. “There. How do you feel?”

Ignis watches as Prompto gives his right shoulder a tentative roll. When the pain he felt before isn’t there, he looks at Noctis with wonder. “Noct, _my bro_. You’re a lifesaver!”

“Oh, wonderful! Here, let me get your shirt,” he says, voice chipper. As he hands Prompto back his shirt, he adds, “Now, remember, this relief is just temporary. You still need to take something for the pain and do stretches and ice it down and everything else I mentioned earlier.”

“Sure thing!”

“Noctis, I…” Ignis looks away, sighs. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for helping my friend. And I apologize for snapping at you.”

“I understand. This has all been a bit exciting, hasn’t it? Perhaps we should head back and get some dinner.”

“Yeah, it has. Hey, do you mind if I talk to Prompto by himself for a bit while we walk?”

“As you say, Master Ignis. I shall walk ahead.”

The three all get their things and begin the hike back to their dormitories. Noctis skips a little ahead to give Prompto and Ignis room, humming a strange tune half-out of a dream.

“So, hey, Iggy? I don’t care how weird he is, Noct is a fucking wizard, and he should come to all our games.”

Ignis barks a short laugh. “Won you over, too, huh? Yeah, I’ll admit, he’s kind of charming in his own strange way. And actually really nice.”

“‘Kind of charming’ and ‘actually really nice,’ he says. Understatements of the century! Also, dude, I’ve never seen you befriend anyone so quickly.”

“Except you?” Ignis throws his arm around Prompto’s shoulders, and they both laugh. “But you’re right, and I can’t explain it. It’s almost like…” He trails off as he watches Noctis do a little spin and whistle at a bird flying overhead. “…almost like we’ve met before.”

“You sure you haven’t?”

“If I have, I don’t remember it.”

Prompto presses his lips together for a moment before calling out, “Noctis! We should exchange numbers in case I forget anything you told me and need to text you.”

“I’m certain the nurse on call in your dormitory can give you all the supplies and information you need. And you know where Master Ignis lives, so if you need anything, you know where I live, too!”

“Come on, bro, just give me your number!”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Don’t have a—why the fuck not?”

Noctis stops, looks down at his feet. “I’ve…never had any friends to call before.”

“Oh shit.” Prompto exchanges a look with Ignis. “Dude, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Prompto?” Noctis smiles gently. “You didn’t know, and it appears that you and Master Ignis are helping me solve the problem. I’ll see about getting a phone immediately, and we can exchange numbers then.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Hey, Noctis, come here.” Ignis gestures with his free hand and, once Noctis reaches his side, wraps that arm around Noctis’s shoulders. “You know, with Prompto injured and Photography Club starting soon, we might need to teach _you_ how to play basketball.”

“What’d I say about replacing me, you ass?”

“I’ve never played, but if you insist, I’d be willing to learn. And speaking of photography, I’m still very interested in those pictures of Master Ignis in a miniskirt!”

“Prompto, don’t you _dare_.”

“Now, now. The man offered a fair price—”

“I’m offering an _unfair_ price!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so.”

“See if I make you lunch ever again, Prompto…”

* * *

Somewhere, a man starts a car. It revs to full power, pulls out into the night, speeds into total darkness. The man behind the wheel ignores the warnings painted on the road, for they do not apply to him:

 **U S E C A U T I O N  
|  
U S E C A U T I O N  
|  
U S E C A U T I O N  
|  
D A N G E R A H E A D  
|  
D A N G E R A H E A D  
|  
D A N G E R A H E A D  
|  
C E R T A I N D E A T H**

* * *

Ignis looks up occasionally from his homework as Noctis unpacks his things and puts them away. He’s surprised at how little the Bridegroom seems to own—the usual uniforms, casual clothes in all black, a shelf and a half of books, an ornate trinket box he stores inside a dresser drawer, a smaller, plainer box he slides to the back of the wardrobe’s top shelf.

“You like stargazing?” Ignis asks when Noctis places a handheld telescope on his desk.

“Yes, but I haven’t had much opportunity here.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“Not sure. Vice President Fleuret didn’t care if I had interests or time to indulge them. Oh, here we are.” Noctis removes an amber glass jar from a basket and sets it on Ignis’s desk. “This is the preparation I mentioned. I promise it doesn’t smell as floral as what I used on Prompto. It should help heal your bruises, though I would wait a day before applying it to any scrapes.”

Ignis opens the jar and sniffs. The waxy salve smells heavily of licorice and mint. He screws the lid back on, turns in his chair, and folds his hands under his chin. “You have the oddest skill set. I mean, advanced gardening? Therapeutic massage? Herbalism?” He stops himself short of mentioning anything sexual, though he certainly is thinking of it. “Who teaches a kid that kind of stuff?”

“The Caelums,” Noctis says in a measured tone, “are an old family. They provided me a rather unique private education before I came to Insomnia Academy.”

“I’ll say they did. Don’t you hate it, though?”

“Hate what, Master Ignis?”

“Being expected to do everything for whoever you’re engaged to. Especially…umm, you know. _That_. Surely you find it demeaning.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Ahh, yes. Well. It seems you wish me to speak candidly, and so I shall.” He carefully places the basket of oils, creams, and ointments on top of his dresser. Stores the final pair of shoes in his wardrobe just so. Once he ensures everything is in place, he slams his wardrobe door.

Ignis jumps as the Bridegroom meets his gaze with ferocious eyes.

“I certainly did not find it _demeaning_ ,” he says, “to take away Prompto’s pain. Quite the contrary, it brought me great joy to see your best friend smile and call me a lifesaver. And that was just a simple, innocent massage, not a handjob or a blowjob or a ride on my cock. There is nothing _demeaning_ about pleasuring others. Whether you wish to partake of me and my services is your choice, of course, but never mistake your discomfort for mine.”

 _That…was not the answer I expected,_ Ignis thinks. Not that he knew what _to_ expect, but it wasn’t the swirl and storm of the Bridegroom’s twilight blue eyes. He certainly didn’t predict Noctis saying that he _wanted_ to give pleasure. “…but…Ravus—”

“—is a sadist who found satisfaction in abusing me. Is that not why you sought to duel him, to protect me?”

 _Is it?_ “W-w-well yes, of course.”

“Then you’re off to a much more splendid start than Vice President Fleuret.” The fury in Noctis’s eyes calms. “Master Ignis, as I said before, I am your flower. What you choose to do with your flower—within the limitations of the Code—will not change my initial impression.”

“And what’s that?”

“I thought I’d already made it abundantly clear,” he says with a light chuckle, “that I find you handsome, delightful, and _painfully_ innocent.”

“Not sure how I feel about ‘painfully,’ but thank you. You know, for the rest. Look, I don’t think…I mean…” Ignis stands, scratches the back of his head, looks away shyly. “Gods be damned, I’m no good at this. But I need to tell you. My ring, I got it from someone dear to me when I was a child.”

“Yes, you mentioned that at breakfast.”

“What I didn’t say was that it was the lowest point of my life. They saved me and said this ring would reunite us someday. I’ve been saving myself ever since. You know…waiting.”

“And you believe this person returns your feelings?”

“Well, this _is_ an engagement ring, after all.”

Noctis visibly flinches. “I see.”

“So, it’s not you—”

“With all due respect, Master Ignis, I’m the Rose Bridegroom and do not need to be soothed with an ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ speech. Though I must say I’m rather charmed you feel the need to give me one.”

Ignis stares at Noctis for a moment before saying, incredulously, “You really haven’t been treated like a person at all, have you?”

“Such a strange way to phrase it, but as accurate as any other construction, I guess.” The Bridegroom hums thoughtfully as he reopens his wardrobe and changes into a black t-shirt and a pair of black lounge pants behind the door.

“Well, engaged or not, I hope you’ll consider me a friend. And I’m going to work hard to be the best person I can, like a good prince should.” Ignis puffs his chest out a little, smiles, and extends a hand. “Deal?”

Noctis looks at his Champion’s hand for a moment. Takes it by the fingers. Lifts it closer to his face, studying the knuckles like diamonds under a loupe. “You wish me to shake your hand, not kiss it. I’m not that inept, though I confess a vague interest in reading your palm.”

“You can do that, too?”

“As I said, a unique private education. Don’t be impressed, it’s little more than a curiosity. I’ll save my kisses and witchcraft for another time.” He grins, lowers Ignis’s hand to a normal height and shakes it. “Deal. There’s still so much to teach you, Master Ignis, but we’ll get there. Let’s just work on sleep for now. As much as either of us ever will, anyway.”

“I still have some reading to do. If you want to sleep, I can go elsewhere.” Ignis picks up the book from his desk, slides his finger into the textblock to mark his place.

“No need,” the Bridegroom says, climbing into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. “I can sleep almost anywhere.”

Ignis shrugs, sits back at his desk, and starts to read again. When he looks up from his book a few minutes later, Noctis is asleep. His face and the bloom of his lips are even softer in dreams— _sad ones, clearly, if his tears are any clue_. Ignis is reminded of the rose Noctis wore in his hair all day. _Didn’t he wear a white one the day we met? He called it one of his captors._

In spite of himself, Ignis crosses the room and perches on the edge of the bed. Brushes the stray bangs out of Noctis’s damp eyes as he wonders why the Bridegroom sleeps with his hair bound. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re not alone. You’re safe.” He sits there for a moment watching Noctis sleep before finally leaving to change into his own pajamas and climb into bed. He dreams of the ocean again, of waters he won’t touch no matter how seductive they look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my botanist-turned-writer friend J. for the word "cultivar" back in the day. Not lying, I might have had a year-long love affair with that word.
> 
> There's a part of me that thinks of _Stick It_ when I think of Aranea and Luna complaining about judges and rank.
> 
> Chapter 3's cursed content:  
> Ignis: "You have the oddest skill set. I mean, advanced gardening? Therapeutic massage? Herbalism? Who teaches a kid that kind of stuff?"  
> Noctis: "Witches. Motherfuckin' witches teach their kids that kind of stuff."


	4. duel 04 :: answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> end of night and gladio conspire to recruit ravus. luna's appearance inspires more questions from ignis. noctis reveals a little about his past.

_as long as such suspicious figures come,  
there shall be debate_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Inhuman Illusory Soul Fusion Magic” (trans. EJ)  
  
  
  


“She’s purring beautifully, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” Gladio says, closing his eyes. One hand presses to the body of the red vintage sportscar as he leans back to feel the engine reverberate through his spine.

“Care to take the wheel from an old man?”

“What are you saying? I don’t even have my license yet.”

End of Night’s smile is black. “Who cares about petty things like governments and their laws? The only way to truly know if you’re ready for power is to grasp the reigns for yourself and attempt to wrest control.”

Gladio sits up and meets End of Night’s golden eyes. “What kind of indecent proposal is that?”

“My sweet Gladiolus, there’s nothing indecent about it. If I wanted to make an indecent proposal, I’d simply do it, knowing you’d agree.”

The President hums as he reaches across the center console and begins to unfasten End of Night’s elaborate coat. “Perhaps.” Slides a hand across lapels and appliqués. “Or perhaps not.” Unhooks his cape. “You make me sound so _easy_ when I am anything but. Do you know how much work it is to undress you, Your Majesty?”

End of Night purrs deeper than the engine. “I love it when you call me by my title. Shall I go faster, my dear?”

“We need,” he says, removing End of Night’s belt with a satisfying tug, “to talk about Ravus.”

“I don’t care about the former Champion. I care about the current one—the outsider. Have you discovered anything about him?”

“His name is Ignis Scientia. He’s an overachiever, and the student body calls him Prince. Orphaned, so he’s touched by Death as we all are. The others don’t know that yet. I’m working on the rest.” Gladio’s eyebrows jump as he teases his tongue across End of Night’s navel. “But don’t be so quick to dismiss Ravus. He holds the key to unlocking Luna and Aranea both. I think we should recruit him.”

“Why should I? Are you trying to protect your friend from obsolescence?”

“I don’t care what happens to him. All I want is the light of revolution, and to gain it, I need to eliminate every obstacle. If we convince him to join us, Ravus will take care of two of them for me.”

“Oh, really? I’d love to hear more about that later.” End of Night says, grabbing Gladio by the hair. “For now, all I want to hear is you sucking your king off.” He thrusts his dick into Gladio’s mouth, forcing the younger man to take him as deep as that wet, willing cavern will accept him.

* * *

_Ever since Noctis bought a phone,_ Ignis thinks, luxuriating in the warm sun and the lack of girlfriend jokes, _lunch has been so much quieter._ He smiles, chews on one of the wraps he’s made for himself and his friends.

For the past few days, Prompto has taken to using their lunch hour to demonstrate various apps to Noctis. First, it was the phone and phone book. Then the message app. Emojis and GIFs. The camera. Social media. Now, Prompto had graduated Noctis to games.

“Go ahead and click on that button. That’ll let you use your Special Command to heal your team and attack the boss.”

“This is all so complicated! How do you keep track?”

“You’ll pick it up as you go. There are tutorials, and some co-op missions I can play with you that’ll help, too.”

Noctis grins but says nothing more on the subject.

Ignis notes how easily they’ve settled into this pattern of morning walks to class, group chats, lunches, afternoon pickup games. How Noctis slotted into their routine like he always belonged. Prompto, no longer bothering to challenge Noctis for Ignis’s hand and heart— _thank the gods, those first couple of days were horrendous_ —or question an odd behavior.

When he pointed this out the other day—while Noctis ran off to chase a cat that had wandered into the court—Prompto had merely shrugged and said, “Guess I’m starting to feel like I’ve met him before, too.”

Ignis’s thoughts are interrupted by the entrance of a blonde beauty wearing a custom uniform granted only to the Student Council into their lunch spot. _I almost forgot about them,_ he thinks, _the Dueling Game, what Noctis is, and why he’s here._ He’s ready to say something, to tell them to leave him be and let him finish his lunch in peace, when Noctis jumps to his feet.

“Miss Luna!” he says.

 _Noctis, acting familiar with someone?_ Ignis blinks once, twice. _I thought he didn’t have any friends._

“How have you been, my dear?” She opens her arms, and the Bridegroom throws his around her in a tight hug as she whispers something into his hair that makes him giggle. Ignis resists the urge to run over there and yank her back by the collar, ask what right she has to bring her lips that close to him.

Prompto elbows him, as if reading his mind. “Dude, isn’t that _Ravus’s_ little sister?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“I mean, I think so. Didn’t know they were close, but I guess if I was dating Hurricane Fleuret, his sister would definitely be on my ally shortlist.”

“Wait, why?”

“You really don’t pay attention to anything happening around here, do you?” he asks with a shake of his head. “How the hell are you even top student?”

“Because I don’t pay attention to anything happening around here,” Ignis says.

“Gods, why am I dating such a _bitch_?” But before Ignis can even file his usual protest, Prompto adds, “If the rumors are true, she’s way nicer than her brother and one of the few people who can calm his temper. And you know as well as I do that Noct isn’t stupid, so you do the math.”

Ignis frowns. “Still, you think he might have mentioned her—”

“But you’re being rude!” she says, her voice rising loud enough to interrupt. “Introduce me, Noctis dear.”

Noctis takes her hand and leads her over. “Master Ignis, this is Miss Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Secretary of the Student Council. Miss Luna, this is Master Ignis Scientia and his boyfriend, Prompto Argentum.”

Prompto grins and jabs a thumb at his own face. “That’s me, the boyfriend. Don’t let _anyone_ tell you otherwise, not even Iggy.”

Luna smiles and laughs, an altogether lovely sound. Ignis is reminded of wind chimes and birdsong, flashes back to Ravus’s similarly beautiful laugh before he asked Noctis to prepare their duel. “Delighted to meet you, Prompto,” she says before turning to extend a hand toward Ignis. “And it’s a pleasure to finally meet my long-time academic rival and discover he’s also the noble Prince of Insomnia Academy who has all my fellow Councillors talking!”

Something clicks in Ignis’s memory, a codename he’d seen next to his own so many exam results. “Wait, are you _Oracle_?”

“Indeed I am, _Specs_.”

He laughs. “Gods, then it really _is_ a pleasure!” He takes Luna’s hand to shake it, and her fingers tease over his Ring of the Lucian Rose. As if he needs a reminder of what she is—a rival in every way he can imagine.

She looks over at Noctis, her smile wistful. “You seem like someone worthy of him, Ignis. Perhaps you’ve heard rumors of my brother’s temper. Unfortunately, many aren’t too far removed from the truth. So, as you can imagine, I’ve grown fond and a little protective of my dear Noctis.” She turns back to Ignis. “It’s strange—I’m so used to being around him that I’ve actually started to miss all the little things I took for granted.”

“Like what?”

“The way he hums those strange songs of his. It used to annoy me, but now I find the house a little too quiet without them. You know he loves animals, right? If you watch him, he’ll whistle after certain birds, and he tries to pet every cat he sees. Hmm, what else? Has he made you tea yet? His blends are exquisite. Oh, sometimes I would watch him make his concoctions. He’d take over the kitchen for hours and make the whole house smell heavenly, but everything was always a wreck afterward! How the servants hated it! And we both play piano, so twice a week, he’d bring home roses, and we’d play in the afternoon.”

“Really? Noctis, I didn’t know you played!”

“It hadn’t come up, Master Ignis,” he says, looking up from his phone display. “And besides, you and Prompto play basketball in the afternoons.”

Prompto snaps his head up from poking at Noctis’s screen. “Damn, Iggy, let Noct play piano with her. You know I start Photography Club in a couple of days anyway, and you really don’t expect Noct to replace me, do you?”

Ignis feels a weight settle in his gut. He hadn’t considered that Noctis might have his own activities, a life independent of his Champion. _Ridiculous that you didn’t, either,_ he thinks, despite all evidence to the contrary—the massage oils that greased Noctis’s hands, the bruise-healing balms, the handheld telescope he said he hadn’t used in ages.

“I don’t see any reason why not. I mean, it’s not like he _has_ to play or watch me play…” Ignis trails off, rubs his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “That said, considering Ravus’s temper, it’s probably best for you two to meet on campus, right?”

Luna’s eyes light up. “Really? I mean, yes, you’re right. I’m sure I can find us a practice room, but…thank you!”

“You know what that means, Miss Luna,” Noctis says, holding up his phone to reveal a picture of the smiling Student Council Secretary. “Now you _have_ to give me your contact information to go with this photo I just took!”

* * *

Gladio slides the shoji open to Ravus’s private dojo, finds the platinum-haired man practicing katas. He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. Ravus, in turn, snaps his eyes toward Gladio, swings the katana, and stops it mere millimeters from the President’s chin.

 _Perfect control_ , Gladio thinks, _even now. Even in the face of loss, of power beyond both of us._

“I see you’ve skipped classes yet again. Are you trying to get expelled?”

“They won’t expel me. Besides, you did, too.” Ravus sheaths his sword. “Come to try and improve your record against me? You’re still one loss behind.”

“I ought to count that loss to Scientia against you.”

Something flickers behind Ravus’s eyes. “Don’t.”

Gladio laughs once, sharp and deep. “Fine. I’ll change. The usual ten?”

“Let’s start there, and if we’re still standing, maybe another ten.” Ravus swaps katana for shinai, sits in seiza, waits for Gladio to don one of the spare uniforms he keeps on hand for him. When Gladio does emerge, Ravus sighs in mild disappointment. “You’ve tied your lovely hair back. What a crime.”

“I learned my lesson at the alumni center, when you grabbed those handfuls.”

“You didn’t complain. Quite the opposite, if I recall.”

“I’d rather not have that discussion with Iris again.”

“Such a dutiful brother. You know, you shelter her far too much. She should’ve been training to succeed you years ago.”

“Less talk, more fight.”

The two do not speak again as they spar, letting their shinai do the talking. The arguing. The bruising. As usual, they pause briefly at ten. Stretch. Silently gauge one another. Line up for eleven and continue battling until twenty. Ten wins to Ravus, ten to Gladio. The record remains, still one match in Ravus’s favor.

Gladio opens the dojo to the darkening sky, unties his himo, lets the keikogi fall open, lies on the floor. “Wonderful. No wonder you’re the Kendo Club captain, and I’m not.”

“You’re not captain,” Ravus says, reclining next to Gladio and twirling the president’s himo absently around his fingers, “because you think it’s a waste of time. Because it’s beneath you, the great Gladiolus Amicitia. You barely tolerate these matches between _us_.”

“Isn’t that a rude thing to say to your oldest, dearest friend?”

Ravus snorts. “Do you expect me to believe that? Do you even believe it yourself anymore? Admit it—you think friendship is for children and only fight me because it keeps you sharp for the day you plan to take the Rose Bridegroom yourself.”

“I challenged you once and lost, or have you forgotten why you have a winning record?”

“You lost on purpose.”

“And what purpose would my loss serve?”

“At worst, none—then you simply play the odds and challenge me until you win. But there’s a new Champion. You can manipulate him or the game or another Duelist. Whatever you want.”

Gladio sits up, meets Ravus’s eyes, raises an eyebrow. “What gives you the impression I have so much power?”

Ravus shakes his head. “Don’t take me for a fool. As I said before, you know why I lost to Scientia. There’s no explaining how he defeated me unless there was something else I couldn’t see because I was literally too close to see it. But _you_ saw it because you watched from the terrace, and you knew to watch because of your secret helper.” His eyes glint like knives in the twilight.

 _How has he figured out so much with so little? End of Night and I have underestimated him._ “You’ve been paying closer attention than I thought.” Gladio grins, turns to stare into the distance. “You’re right. I did watch that match between you and Scientia. He was an amateur. There was nothing wrong with your technique…and no reason you should have lost.”

Ravus slams his fist into the floor, tearing skin. “But I did! That’s the part I still can’t comprehend!”

Gladio closes his hands around the fist. “Before I explain it—” Lifts it slowly toward his face. “—there’s someone I want you to meet.” Kisses the scraped flesh. “If your soul has not truly given up—” Licks the blood from Ravus’s knuckles. “—then you can hear the sound that races about the ends of night.” Releases the fist and touches Ravus’s ear, pushing it ever-so-slightly forward.

“What the fuck?”

And then Ravus hears it.

Ignition.

Engine.

Gearshift.

Acceleration.

Ravus leaps to his feet, his head whipping around. “I hear it! Gladio, what is that? Where’s it coming from?”

“Come, join us!” Gladio says as he stands. “Follow us to the dawn you desire!”

Brakes.

Headlights.

A man, beckoning them deeper into the darkness.

Inviting them to ride.

To _see_.

Ravus sees, recognizes, understands. “You!”

End of Night chuckles. “Good evening, Vice President. It’s a lovely night for a drive. Will you be coming along for the ride?”

* * *

“I didn’t know,” Ignis says over dinner in the cafeteria, “that you and Lunafreya were so close.”

Noctis pauses between bites of stew. “What do you mean?”

“You never mentioned her or asked to spend time with her before.” Ignis realizes that perhaps he sounds jealous or bitter, but it’s mostly confusion he feels. _Why won’t you trust me, Noctis?_

As if in response to his thoughts, Noctis sets his spoon down and looks at his Champion curiously. “Do you still not know how this works, Master Ignis? Perhaps the quiet since your victory has made me remiss in my explanations, but I thought you understood. You decide what I do, when I do it, with whom I spend time. I’m _yours_.”

“But you’re a person with your own interests and desires, right? I remember you said Ravus never let you stargaze, that my victory was an improvement over him. I want you to feel safe to pursue your hobbies and make your own friends, like you didn’t when you were with him.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. His sadism was never a problem, but the worst of his violence masks something I can’t fix—desires far deeper than anything my body could dive to meet. What bothers me about the Vice President are his motivations to duel.”

Ignis considers this for a moment. It doesn’t answer his question about Lunafreya but does remind him of something Prompto had said earlier: _You know as well as I do that Noct isn’t stupid, so you do the math._ He does a little math. “Who else on the Student Council has been your Champion?”

“I’ve been engaged to all of them, except Miss Luna. Vice President Fleuret just held me the longest,” Noctis says, and Ignis winces a little at the word _held_. Like a trinket. “I guess after a point, no one wanted to deal with him, and Miss Luna would never have fought her brother. President Amicitia did challenge him once but lost. The Vice President insists the President lost on purpose. All I can say is, they seem quite equally matched.”

He resumes eating, and a sharp silence—somehow intensified by the warm buzz of conversation around them—settles over their table. Once they finish their meal, they drop their dishes off at the kitchen, collect their bags, and walk back to their dorm room.

Noctis breaks the silence by humming. It’s not the same half-dreamed song Ignis has heard before; this is another song, another half-dream. The tune is familiar, even though Ignis could swear he’s never heard it before.

“What is that?”

“Hmm?”

“The song you’re humming.”

“Don’t know. I just know a lot of little songs.”

“Lunafreya mentioned you do that.”

“She would know, I guess.”

It strikes Ignis how flat the statement seems, particularly when he seemed so excited about the prospect of playing piano with her again. “Do you not actually…like her?” _He seems so hot and cold sometimes._

Noctis smiles gently, as if he can sweep away all of Ignis’s concerns with words. “Please don’t interpret that as representative of my feelings, Master Ignis. Miss Luna is merely the person to whom you’ve spoken about my habits.”

“Oh.” He unlocks their shared room, removes his shoes, sits at his desk. “Well, I have some homework, so—”

“If you want me to leave so you can focus—”

“No!” Ignis blushes, shakes his head. “I mean, there’s no need. You can just stay and do homework or read or whatever.”

A tiny smile quirks Noctis’s lips. “As you say. Then I’ll read.”

But Ignis can’t help but get distracted every so often by the Bridegroom—propped on his bed, nose buried in a well-worn volume—and the way his eyes focus so intensely on each page.

* * *

“Now that you know who I am,” End of Night says as they reach cruising speed, “I must ask: what do you think the Rose Bridegroom is? There’s no wrong answer, merely less…thoughtful ones.”

Ravus doesn’t hesitate. “He’s a key. I don’t care if he’s your key or not. I just want to use him to unlock the door you guard and take what’s behind it.”

End of Night laughs, and Ravus feels his bones tremble. “My, but aren’t you _perceptive_. But don’t let me interrupt. You two have business to discuss.”

Gladio nods. “Ignis Scientia won because of the power of Somnus.”

“Impossible. He was _my_ Bridegroom—”

“I saw it myself. The Rose Bridegroom can lend the Lucian magic to anyone, thorn-bound or not.”

“Are you saying Caelum _betrayed_ me?”

“Not quite,” End of Night says, interrupting. “Or not willingly, anyway. I can personally guarantee he has no idea how it happened. We are all, if you’ll pardon the pun, at a loss. That’s where you come in. I need you to be another one of my keys.”

He considers this. “Why should I trust either of you?

Gladio slides across the seat to lean against Ravus, press a hand to his heart. “You keep saying you don’t believe I’m your friend anymore, but I’ve known you for years.”

> _“We should’ve quit,” Gladio says, leaning forward to pump his legs into the bike pedals, “after the tenth shobu, Ravus! Now it’s really coming down!”_
> 
> _Ravus perches on the back of the bike, gripping his friend’s waist and shirt with one hand and balancing their twin shinais on his shoulder with the other. “I can’t help it. You’re the only one who’ll let me practice with them. Pedal faster!”_
> 
> _Suddenly, Gladio brakes, and the pair skid to an unsteady stop._
> 
> _“What is it?” Ravus asks._
> 
> _“A funeral…”_

“Your whole life,” Gladio says, tracing Ravus’s lips with a finger, “you’ve longed for something eternal.”

> _“Excuse me!” A small cluster of adults with umbrellas jog up, the oldest-looking among them waving to get their attention. “You boys haven’t seen another boy your age with dark blond hair around here, have you?”_
> 
> _“What’s wrong?” Gladio asks._
> 
> _“He lost his parents in an accident and disappeared after we let him out of our sight.”_
> 
> _“I’m sorry,” says Ravus, “but we haven’t seen anyone.”_
> 
> _“I see. Thank you.” The adults wander off whispering amongst themselves. One offers that the boy may have been spirited away, another suggests a search centered on a nearby hill._
> 
> _“‘Spirited away,’ ridiculous.” Ravus snorts. But the strange expression on Gladio’s face as he stares at the church, coupled with a cold wind across his rain-soaked skin, makes him shiver and worry that maybe it’s not so ridiculous after all._

As Ravus’s eyes slip closed and a hot sigh stutters out of him, one of Gladio’s hands wanders down the man’s white throat, the keikogi’s black lapels. “That’s why you cling to what we have, isn’t it?”

> _The church door is ajar but creaks heavily as Gladio shoves it open enough to admit him and Ravus. He pauses to see if anyone is inside that might admonish them. When the creak is answered with silence, he runs in._
> 
> _“Wait, Gladio!” Ravus whispers. “What are you doing?”_
> 
> _“I thought I saw three coffins through the door.” He looks between the three, picks the one to the left, and pushes the lid._
> 
> _Ravus’s eyes go wide as the coffin slowly opens. “Stop it, Gladio! Don’t! There’s a body in there! Stop it! Stop! STOP!”_
> 
> _Lightning flashes through stained glass, flickering their faces red, green, gold._
> 
> _A tiny voice comes from inside the coffin. “Please…don’t open it.”_
> 
> _Curled inside and blanketed in white roses is the boy._
> 
> _Ravus stands beside the coffin. “You know, everyone’s looking for you.”_
> 
> _“Will you tell them where I am?” the boy asks._
> 
> _“Of course not,” Gladio says, kneeling and reaching in to thread his fingers through the boy’s soft hair. “I always protect those in need. I’m chivalrous.”_

Gladio’s hands part the keikogi to reveal a marble-white chest, flushed areolae. As his thumbs slide over peaked nipples, he whispers, “You think it’s an eternal friendship.”

> _“Why,” Ravus asks, “are you hiding in there?”_
> 
> _“Because I belong here,” the boy says, his voice quivering. “My parents are in the coffins next to me, you know. They died in the accident, but there was an extra coffin. It was meant for me. I’m supposed to be dead. Living on…it just makes me sick.”_
> 
> _“It does?” Gladio combs the boy’s hair with his fingers, traces the faint lines of salt—dried tears—streaking his pretty cheek._
> 
> _“Yeah. Why does everyone go on living if they have to die someday? Well, I’ve had enough. There’s no such thing as anything eternal, so I’ll just stay in this coffin forever.”_
> 
> _Ravus sputters.“B-b-but s-someone’ll find you!”_
> 
> _“Then I’ll find a different coffin to hide in. There’s no point to it all. I want to be alone in the darkness.”_
> 
> _“Okay. I’ll keep my promise. I’m sorry.” Gladio presses a kiss to his fingertips, touches them to the boy’s forehead, rises, and walks toward the church door._
> 
> _“What are you doing? We can’t just leave him!” Ravus says with a hiss as he follows._
> 
> _Gladio stops. Turns. Stabs a finger in Ravus’s chest. “Then_ you _show him something eternal!”_

Ravus slides into the upholstery, moaning in spite of himself. Gladio grins, makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl. “A bond forged by that rainy afternoon in the church, perhaps?”

> _They ride past the same church the next day, and the boy is graveside. “He’s out, Gladio. Look.”_
> 
> _“Huh, you’re right.”_
> 
> _The boy’s back is straight, his eyes bright. Ravus hadn’t noticed it then, but he has such green eyes. Like spring buds, like inflorescence.“There’s something different about him.”_
> 
> _“If you say so.”_
> 
> _He wonders what happened; the boy they met did not look like this. “Did you come back and do something?”_
> 
> _“No,” Gladio says. “Not a thing.”_
> 
> _He looks at that warm-skinned face, that twist of lip, that fire behind amber eyes, and Ravus feels his first doubt in Gladio’s honesty._

It takes almost all of Gladio’s willpower—he’s thoroughly enjoying himself, but this is _business_ —to snake a hand between their near-flush hips and knotted hakamas, grip Ravus’s cock, and hold it.

Ravus snarls and stares, pupil almost swallowing the cold grey of his irises.

“Pay attention, Ravus. This is important. You remember when we found the boy in the coffin, the one who needed to see something eternal?”

“Did that even happen?” he says, all hot breath and protest. “I’m not sure I recall.”

“I know you think I saved him that night, but I didn’t.” Gladio releases Ravus, licks a long line from collarbone to earlobe, and whispers, “It was him. It was End of Night.”

“What?” Ravus sits bolt upright, shoving Gladio aside.

Gladio rolls his shoulders as he curls upward, like a stem breaching the earth, slides his arms over Ravus’s shoulders and down his exposed chest. Slips the keikogi back and away, pressing kisses along his back. “Yes. It was him. It was always him. He’s a king, you know. An _immortal_.”

Ravus clamps a hand on End of Night’s shoulder. “Just what kind of power do you _have_?”

End of Night chuckles. “The throb of the engine…it feels good, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“I believe it’s time to reveal the Ends of my Night to you, at last.”

In the king’s dark, blood runs black as asphalt.

* * *

Noctis closes his book, rolls over to dangle his head off his bed and look at Ignis upside-down. “You’re staring,” he says with a crooked smirk.

“Oh, umm, it’s nothing important.”

“I’m happy to answer any questions you have, Master Ignis.”

“Well, if you don’t mind my asking…” Ignis walks over to the bed and takes a seat next to the Bridegroom. “Who was your first Champion?”

“You mean in this Dueling Game?”

“What else would I mean?”

Noctis lifts his hips and legs, flips over the edge of the bed. He takes one of Ignis’s hands in his, squeezes it once, releases it with a sigh, and skips over to his wardrobe. “President Amicitia. For a while, no one challenged him. Eventually, Treasurer Highwind did and defeated him soundly. Soon after, Vice President Fleuret challenged her. However, immediately after their duel began, Miss Highwind removed her rose and forfeited.”

“Why?”

He pokes his head from behind the door. “She wanted to lose because she found me, in her words, _detestable_.”

 _It’s kind of cute,_ Ignis thinks, _this protecting-his-modesty thing. Does he do it for my sake?_ “I find that hard to believe.”

Noctis chuckles softly as he steps out in black lounge pants, holding a black shirt in his hand. “Not everyone is like you, Master Ignis, with such capacity for kindness and thoughtfulness.”

Ignis blushes. “You seem pretty kind and thoughtful, too, so why—” Suddenly he notices the large keyhole-shaped scar knotting its way across and down the Bridegroom’s chest. “Noctis, by the gods, what happened?”

“Ahh, yes. I knew I’d have to address this eventually.” He sighs deeply as he sits. “There was an accident. I would’ve died, if not for my uncle. He’s my only family left. He made sure I was saved.”

“How old were you?”

“Little. It’s hard to remember, honestly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I don’t know if _bother_ is the right word. I’m always tired, even when I can’t sleep, and it always aches. I’m used to it, though.”

Ignis extends a hand to touch it, withdraws. “May I?”

“I’m yours to do with as you please.”

He runs his fingers lightly over the scar, feels his breath hitch as he realizes the size now is smaller than it would have been when it was inflicted. His own body trembles at the thought.

Noctis sees the shiver and clambers backward to wrap a small throw around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I’ve disgusted you, Master Ignis. I’ll finish changing now.”

“No, it’s not that. Please—” He grabs Noctis’s wrist. “It’s fine.”

He relaxes, his smile luminous. “As you say.”

“I was just thinking how huge that must have been when you were young.”

“Ahh. I thought you found me repulsive. Many do.” The Bridegroom looks away, blushes. The blanket around his shoulders slips slightly, revealing a pale sweep of collarbone.

Ignis is seized by the sudden impulse to yank that blanket back, strip the Rose Bridegroom bare, kiss him breathless, and make him realize that no scar could ever spoil him. _But my chosen!_ he thinks, pressing his lips together and swallowing back the urges that bubble up in him.

“Not at all,” he says finally. “You’ve been through so much. The accident, the pain, being passed from Duelist to Duelist like a trophy. I find you strong, not disgusting.”

“You’re so strange,” the Bridegroom says with a small shake of his head, “always praising me for no reason and refusing my services.”

Arguing the subject of Noctis’s “services,” Ignis knows, is a losing battle. Calling them demeaning hurts his feelings, and ignoring the joy he takes in giving pleasure negates what little agency he has. Instead, he goes back to something Noctis mentioned in passing. “You said your uncle saved you? Do you get to see him often?”

“About once a week, though he’s always saying he wishes he could see me more.”

“That makes sense, being your only family.” Ignis pauses as the implications of time and geography settle in. “He must live quite close if you can see him so frequently.”

“Who do you think I stayed with that first night when I didn’t stay with you?”

“I…honestly didn’t think about it. He lives within walking distance of the dormitories?”

Noctis laughs. “Why, Uncle Ardyn’s quarters are in the center of campus!”

“Uncle…Ardyn? Wait, you’re telling me that Ardyn Izunia, the Chairman of Insomnia Academy, is your _uncle_?”

“Of course!” Noctis smiles, angles his head as he often does. “Why, do you want to meet him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the challenges of this fic has been translating _Utena_ 's visual style to text, and I think the scene between Gladio, Ravus, and End of Night was one of the first I wrote where I felt like I could pull it off. I really enjoyed writing it, too!
> 
> Chapter 4's cursed content: If you know your _Utena_ , then you should know all about [this](https://tenor.com/view/revolutionary-girl-utena-akio-ohtori-car-driving-sexy-gif-12831724). Fill in the appropriate people.


	5. duel 05 :: revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> duets. an attempt to end the duels. family meetings. luna meets a different noctis and makes a decision.

_perfection, foolish child, sphere,  
me, cosmos, principles_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Absolute Destiny Apocalypse・Complete” (trans. EJ)  
  
  
  


“You brought roses!”

“I always do. I felt orange today, like yesterday’s sunset?”

“Lovely. _Fantasie in F Minor_?”

“Certainly, Miss Luna.”

“Primo or secundo?”

“Your preference.”

“I’ll take primo then.”

Watching the two prepare makes Ignis smile behind his hand. He tries not to make a nuisance of himself, knowing he’s a stranger in the space. These practice rooms, the realm of music students, are as mysterious to him as the Dueling Game itself. Here, though, he studies Noctis and Luna as they sit side by side on the piano bench. As she tucks a stray lock of his hair behind his rose. As he lowers his head shyly but keeps eyes on Ignis until they begin to play.

The music begins slow, melancholic. Luna’s part seems hesitant at first, like there’s a darkness the song refuses to acknowledge. But as the music builds—as Noctis’s delicate notes become more insistent and spirited—Luna plays with increased power. Once deep into the second movement, the pair begin to loosen up. They smile, though Luna’s is smaller, shyer; Noctis’s is that of someone totally at ease with his motions.

Ignis is entranced by their hands and arms—the cross, the brush of wrists, the flurry and flourish of fingers. How the music teases, builds, soars, falls. He’s no expert but knows he is listening to something quite special.

The swift beat of silence following the climax takes his breath away.

The echo of the first movement gives it back.

And the music ends.

Luna wiggles a few inches back to stare at her partner. “Noctis, that was incredible!”

He grins. “It’s easy with a perfect primo like you!”

“Don’t be so modest. Your scherzo improvisations were superb.”

Ignis claps. “I don’t know Bach from Beethoven, but you two were amazing. Are you concert pianists?”

“Miss Luna is! You started performing when you were eight, right, Miss Luna?”

“That’s right. Ravus used to be my partner. They say we were both prodigies, that we were composing music before we could even write our names. The time we spent playing together was the happiest of my life, but then he quit the day before our first performance.”

“How strange,” says Ignis. “Did he say why?”

Luna presses a C, lets the note reverberate. “He told me he wasn’t a child anymore but a man. That a man has responsibilities to a lady like me, a man has no time for toys like the piano. He’s refused to play ever since.”

Noctis plays an E in response. “I can almost understand his logic. When I was young, I was taught to think of music as fun—probably to encourage my creativity. Perhaps he, too, thought of music this way, and therefore the instrument as a plaything. And I imagine Ravus was always quite serious, even when he was young.”

“This is true.”

“Master Ignis, you look like you need an Ebony from the vending machine. Allow me.”

“But Noctis—” Before Ignis could finish protesting, the Bridegroom was out the door.

Luna chuckles. “He’s very good at anticipating your needs. He did that for Ravus, too, though I never got used to watching it.”

“Because it reminds you,” Ignis says, “of what he is.”

Luna is quiet for a moment before she nods.

“If I’m honest, I’m not sure he likes it. He claims he does, or at least that he enjoys giving others pleasure, but I don’t know if I believe him.” Ignis frowns, shakes his head. “Or—how should I put this—I’m not sure he means it exactly like he says.”

“Can you explain?”

Ignis sighs, staring at the empty space on the bench where Noctis sat mere minutes before. “I sometimes think he’s a lot angrier than he lets on. I can’t really explain it, but I just have this sense that that’s how he copes with being the Bridegroom. You know, by reclaiming his agency.”

“I could see that,” Luna says, her voice low and musing. “There’s something in the way he plays that reminds me of the purity of Ravus’s sound back then. There was a time my brother wasn’t the man everyone knows. He was once pure and sweet and good.”

“Back when he played piano?”

“Yes. Maybe it’s silly, but I sometimes think Ravus giving up the piano was the worst thing to ever happen to him. To us.” She sighs and shakes her head. “In any case, I can’t imagine a person like Noctis, who plays with such innocence and purity, is the type to take pleasure in what he’s been forced to do.”

Noctis presses a can against the side of Ignis’s neck. “Looking for this?”

Ignis hisses, twists away. “Don’t _do_ that! How did you sneak up on us, anyway?”

“My secret. I also got an elderflower lemonade for you, Miss Luna,” he says, placing the golden can in her hands after setting the black can down next to Ignis.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a ninja. And that you like Lunafreya better than me.”

Luna laughs and blushes. “Oh, surely not. Surely he likes you at least as much! But I _have_ heard the Bridegroom has special powers.”

Noctis reclaims his seat at the piano bench, plays a few bars from the theme to _Swan Lake_ , and grins. “Perhaps. Did we want to play a little longer?”

 _You still have an hour before that meeting with Aranea about Fencing Club business,_ she tells herself, _and his smile is so sweet._ “Let’s.”

* * *

The elevator to the Student Council chambers rises.

“If it cannot break its egg’s shell,” says President Gladiolus Amicitia, “a chick will die in the dark without being born.”

“We are the chick. The world is our egg,” says Vice President Ravus Nox Fleuret.

“If we don’t crack the world’s shell, we will die in the dark without being born,” Secretary Lunafreya Nox Fleuret says.

“Smash the world’s shell!” Treasurer Aranea Highwind says.

“For the sake of the light of revolution!” they say in unison.

Ravus groans as he half falls into his chair. “Why in the name of all that is unholy did you call this meeting, Gladio? We haven’t received any letters and we’re still waiting on the next duel, so there shouldn’t be any business.”

“There is indeed new business,” Gladio says, “but I’m not the one who’s brought the motion to the table.”

Luna stands, presses her hands against the conference table as she leans forward. “I propose the termination of Dueling Game, the Code of the Lucian Rose, and all Student Council responsibilities unrelated to the representation of the Insomnia Academy student body. It is preposterous for us to duel to possess Noctis, and I can no longer stand idly by and allow it to continue.”

Ravus raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never complained before. Why the sudden change of heart? Surely all his powers—”

“There is no power Noctis could grant that is worth stripping him of his agency.”

“I see.” Aranea frowns. “That glow you’ve had in our meetings—you convinced Scientia to let you spend time with Pretty Boy, didn’t you?”

“It’s sweet,” says Gladio, his voice soft and reflective, “how innocence keeps you from seeing what you truly want.”

Ravus nods. “Not just innocence, but also self-loathing. My dear sister, haven’t you figured it out yet?” He sidles up to Gladio, buries his fingers in President’s rich brown hair. “There is no way forward without destroying something precious to someone.”

“He’s right. We seek to smash the world’s shell, after all.” Gladio leans into Ravus’s hand. “Think about it, Lunafreya. In the meantime, consider your proposal rejected. Meeting adjourned.”

The President and Vice President exchange heated looks and leave together.

“I guess we know what they’re up to,” Luna says with a sigh.

“Before you leave,” Aranea says, “I’ve gotta know. You _do_ realize that Noctis is way more dangerous than your brother, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Luna recoils as if struck. “Noctis is nothing like Ravus!”

“Luna, you’re the only one of us who’s never been engaged to him. I’m the only one of us who purposefully lost a duel to get away from him. I think I know better than you.”

“Noctis and I are very close, and he’s always been an absolute sweetheart.”

“Please tell me you aren’t meeting him alone.” She sees the look in Luna’s eyes, rubs her face. “Oh gods, you are—and I thought you were smarter than this!”

Luna’s rage is white-hot in an instant. “What right do you have to tell me how to live my personal life?” _This bitch, always thinking she’s better than me, just because she taught me how to use a sword—_ “Don’t think I haven’t seen how you look at me!”

“How dare you?” _Oh gods she knows she knows I thought I was so careful—_ Aranea flinches, then throws her hands up. “You know what? Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you find out what a demon he truly is!” She rushes off, choking back a sob the entire elevator ride down.

* * *

Ardyn Izunia does not look anything like Ignis would have imagined. If someone had pressed him to guess at the man’s occupation based solely on his looks, he probably would have gone with _artist_. Ardyn has the eccentric style of one, but it demonstrates a certain polish. That each piece was chosen for highlight and effect. And he is quite handsome, so perhaps _model_? But never _academy chairman_.

Like Noctis, Ardyn wears his hair in a loose ponytail, though Ignis can tell the uncle’s plum-sunset locks— _goodness, am I a poet now?_ Ignis thinks—are a fair bit longer and thicker than his nephew’s. It’s clear, however, that the two are related. Something about the shared mischief curling their lips, the hard-won wisdom behind their opposed eyes. Or perhaps it is something about the set of their noble jaws, the preternatural carriage of their walk. Whatever it is, Ignis knows instantly they are blood—and knows that anyone who’d see them together would recognize it, too.

“I must apologize for my ill-mannered nephew, Mister Scientia,” Ardyn says. “If I’d known he’d never bothered to tell you who I was, I would have rectified the situation promptly and invited you to tea myself!”

“Call me Ignis! And please don’t be so hard on Noctis, Chairman Izunia. I think he just assumed I knew and wasn’t interested.”

Ardyn’s smile is beatific. “You’re too kind, Ignis. I know he’s struggled to find friends. It’s my fault, if I’m honest. I sheltered him after the accident, indulged his gardening, allowed him to heal alone. By the time I realized how isolated he was, it was far too late. But at last, he finally seems to be opening up. I’m glad it’s to a sweet soul such as yourself.”

Ignis blushes. “I’m not as special as all that, but Noctis is definitely one of the most unique people I’ve ever met. And it was in fact his gardening that brought us together!”

”You hear that, Uncle Ardyn?” Noctis says, raising his voice from the kitchen area. “Master Ignis likes my roses.”

“Dearest Noct, you’re being purposefully obtuse. I _adore_ your roses and have never said you shouldn’t cultivate them. All I’ve suggested is that you cultivate things _in addition_ to them.”

“You mean, like, orchids?”

“Are you this monstrous around Ignis, too, or do you save up all this terror for me?” Ardyn rubs his temple, but the smile on his face tells Ignis everything he needs to know about Ardyn’s true feelings.

He can’t help but chuckle at the easy rapport between uncle and nephew, nor can he resist the urge to throw a pun into the mix. “Didn’t you know? Noctis’s nerves are constantly _a-frayed_ at the very idea of upsetting me.”

The room goes silent for a brief moment before both Ardyn and Noctis burst into laughter.

“Master Ignis, that was great!”

“No, it was awful! I regret allowing you into my home.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Noctis says, emerging with a tea tray. “He loves it.”

Ardyn wipes a tear from his golden eyes and, once Noctis serves his tea, trails a finger around the saucer. “What I love, sweet nephew, is my afternoon tea without tomfoolery.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you’d never invite him at all, Chairman?” Ignis asks with a wicked grin.

He opens his mouth, snaps it shut with a click of teeth. “I believe, you treasure, that you’ve trapped me. And I swear, if you call me ‘Chairman’ again, I’ll have you thrown out. _Please_ call me Ardyn.”

Noctis sets a cup in front of Ignis— _service after his uncle, of course_ —and whispers, “He means it.”

“Okay. Ardyn.” The name feels strangely familiar wrapped around his tongue. Not the way he expects—as a student who knows the man in charge of his school. No—rather, the way a scholar knows a deity mentioned in the footnotes of a long-forgotten volume.

“Delightful,” says Ardyn, his voice trailing to a purr. He lifts his teacup. “Now then, I’ve been very excited to try this latest blend. It’s brewed up so pretty, Noct. Almost as pretty as the company you’ve brought to share.”

Ignis feels his cheeks pinking. “You’re spoiling me! I-I-I mean, all these compliments?” He stirs in a little sugar and sips, hoping to hide his blush behind the cup, feels his eyebrows fly up as the tart fragrance of rose hips and a sigh of honey overwhelm his senses. “A-a-and now this fantastic tea? It’s delicious!”

Ardyn waves his hand. “Compliments? Bah, clearly you must be a treasure if you can keep up with both of us. Trust me, we are a _tiresome_ pair and have driven lesser men to their graves.”

Noctis turns his head to Ardyn and gives him a sharp look. “Uncle! Be mindful of what you say.”

“Oh, don’t be so serious all the time, Noct. Just a figure of speech. Surely your dear friend doesn’t mind so much. Do you, sweet Ignis?”

“I…” His ring clinks faintly against the teacup— _as if I need another reminder_ —and the aroma enfolds him like his beloved’s arms. _But also,_ he realizes with a start, _Noctis’s skin._ The blush deepens. “Umm…N-Noctis, did you grow these rose hips yourself?”

“Indeed. I grow everything in my teas myself, but I keep it all in a greenhouse much closer to this residence than the main garden because none of it is ornamental.”

“That reminds me,” Ardyn says. “Can I once again try to convince you to move out of the dormitories and into my quarters? There’s more than enough room, and you know how lonely I get.”

“Shouldn’t you be directing that question to your fiancée, Miss Aera?” Noctis taps his spoon against the rim of his teacup. “Besides, I like living with Master Ignis. Would you really have me move, especially now that I’ve made a treasured friend?”

 _“Treasured friend”—he’s never called me that before._ Ignis smiles.

“Noct, really, you wound me. You know perfectly well that Aera is traveling. All the more reason for my loneliness.” Ardyn sighs. “But I really can’t separate you from Ignis either, can I? I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with our weekly dinners and occasional teas.”

“Maybe we should schedule a tea together at least once a week, separate from your dinners?” Ignis asks.

“What did I tell you? A treasure. You’d be invited to tea, of course, but I’d like to preserve evenings with my nephew for the two of us. I have a tendency to keep him up late, and it isn’t right to inflict that on anyone else.”

“Oh no,” Ignis says. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You two deserve family time. To be honest, I’m a little jealous. I mean, both Noctis and I grew up without parents, but my uncle isn’t very involved in my life.”

“I don’t believe there is an uncle quite like me anywhere else in the world.”

That sharp look again, that flash of hesitation and steel behind blue silk. “You’re shockingly honest today.”

Ardyn raises a hand to his heart. “Why, Noct! What a suggestion you’ve made!”

Noctis laughs, shoves Ardyn by the shoulder. “You’re seriously going to pretend like you didn’t say there’s no such thing as lying—merely truth the way _men_ tell it and truth the way _gods and artists_ tell it?”

“You know those journalists wouldn’t leave me alone. I still stand by what I said. And here,” Ardyn says, drawing himself out of the chair and assuming a statesman’s pose, “is another declaration I’ll stand by, based on my tenure at this institution: all Insomnia Academy’s students are free, have a love of learning, and never, ever fight. Wouldn’t you agree, sweet Ignis?”

Ignis claps a hand over his mouth. Whether to stifle a giggle or a gasp, he isn’t sure.

* * *

“By the way,” Noctis says as they walk back to the dormitory, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not telling my uncle about my secret. I don’t want to be the cause of any concern to him.”

Ignis nods. “Yeah, I imagine he’d be worried about your being the Rose Bridegroom, not to mention your involvement in duels and the Dueling Game and all. So, yeah, it’ll be our secret.” He takes Noctis’s hand and squeezes it, much like Noctis did when they first spoke of his scars. Except he doesn’t let go after a single squeeze. He doesn’t let go all the way home.

* * *

It isn’t Luna’s day.

Her secretarial duties are nonstop all morning. Person after person is in her office, demanding her time and attention. Students. Faculty. Staff. Even Gladio, who never bothers her.

When she finally breaks away to grab her lunch, she realizes it isn’t in the Council refrigerator but her refrigerator at home. Lunchless and starving, she meets with Aranea to review some more Fencing Club business. The captain practically drapes herself across the bench as she eats, annoying Luna on principle. _This is a meeting,_ she thinks _, not your personal triclinium!_ At least Aranea sticks to business and doesn’t interject her anti-Noctis bias into the discussion.

Classes are miserable; it’s all Luna can do just to stay awake through them. The only light is the promise of playing piano with Noctis. And as she opens the door to their usual practice room, a pretty girl she vaguely recognizes as one of the concert violinists dashes out and knocks her to the floor.

“Oops, sorry.” The girl shrugs and runs off.

Luna rubs the lump on her head. _Didn’t even have the decency to offer to help me collect my things._

Once she has her books and sheet music, she enters and sees Ravus seated on the piano bench. He reclines against the piano, hair mussed, jacket and trousers open.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, as if it isn’t obvious.

“You know as well as I,” he says, “that these rooms are for more than just practice, sweet sister. And that musician’s fingers are so very deft.”

“Get out. I’m meeting Noctis here shortly.”

“Ahh, yes! I know all about the pleasures of the Bridegroom. But then again, so do you.” Ravus smiles. “That said, if you really want to swim in his ocean, you’re not going to be able to just dip your toes in his water.”

Luna crosses the room and then her arms. “I don’t know what you mean, Ravus, but I do know that you need to go.”

“You want him, don’t you? It’s okay. You are allowed to want, to _need_.” He stands, zips his pants, half-fastens his jacket over a love-bitten chest. Luna absently wonders if her own skin would show hickeys so well. “If I teach you nothing else in this life, I will teach you to stop denying yourself.”

“I don’t think I need to learn anything else from you.”

“On the contrary, you’ve shut me out me for so long, you’ve missed my most important lessons.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Lu—oh, hello, Vice President Fleuret.” Noctis’s voice echoes from the threshold. “I was unaware you’d be joining us.”

“I won’t be staying, Caelum. Just giving my darling sister some important advice.” Ravus smiles, strokes her cheek. “Listen well, Lunafreya: unless you defend the things you hold precious, people will steal and spoil them. And as for the Bridegroom, only the one to whom he is engaged can bend his will. Ask him, don’t ask him—it’s all the same to me. I’ve no reason to lie to you.”

As Ravus walks out of the practice room, he gives a small nod of acknowledgment to Noctis but says no more.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, Noctis dear.”

“It’s fine. He did not break the Code, and his behavior has been much, much worse in the past. You did an excellent job reining him in.” Noctis’s eyes light up. “Oh! I brought roses the same blue as your uniform and House Fleuret’s flower.”

“And you wore one, too. It looks lovely with your eyes.”

“I’m very pleased with this variety. It’s quite hardy and grows well with all my others.” He takes a seat at the bench. “Did you have any preferences regarding music today, Miss Luna?”

 _He didn’t even acknowledge the compliment._ “You know, I have no idea what you play when we’re not together.”

“There’s no piano in the dormitory, so I don’t play when we’re not together.”

“But if you did, what would you play?”

“Whatever Master Ignis wanted to hear.”

“But Ignis said he doesn’t know a thing about music!” Luna laughs, high and nervous. “Come on, you have to have a repertoire of songs you play when you’re just absently fooling around with the keys.”

“Oh, those songs.” Noctis lifts his fingers and begins one of the movements from _Metamorphosis_.

Luna closes her eyes, allowing the repetitions to wash over her for a time. When she opens them, she takes a seat beside Noctis on the bench and brushes her fingers lightly, teasingly across his shoulders. “Do you remember who taught you to play as a child?”

“Not really,” Noctis says. “But I have vague memories of my father encouraging me.”

“I’ll bet you were the most angelic little boy. My brother was, too, before he became…well, you know.”

Noctis says nothing, but the light breaks through the clouds outside and shines through the music room window. Luna sees the Bridegroom’s black hair, his pale skin and the white of his uniform made black by backlight, and all she can see is Ravus in silhouette. She remembers her small hands crossing over his as they played piano in their family home. His warm smile whenever she made an improvisation. Their music—that perfect, pure sound they made together. She and Ravus, before he left her. Before his fall into depravity.

 _I have to protect Noctis from that,_ she thinks, _at all costs._ “From the way you play, it really sounds like you enjoy piano.”

“I do! I’ve always liked music.”

She strokes his hair. “Would you keep playing with me?”

“If Master Ignis says so.”

“What if I bought you a piano for your dormitory? Would you play there?”

“If Master Ignis says so.”

“You keep saying _Master Ignis_ this and _Master Ignis_ that—”

“But I am his flower—”

“Noctis dear.” Luna grabs Noctis by the wrists and pulls his hands away from the keys. “Stop for a moment. Look at me. Would you really stop playing piano forever if Ignis ordered it?”

“But of course.” He tilts his head— _that damnable head tilt of his!_ —and looks at her, confused. “You know I’m the Rose Bridegroom and must do as my Champion wills.”

> _Ravus’s jacket, yawning open at the throat. His fingers, like wings fluttering against her face. “Only the one to whom he is engaged can bend his will.”_

She gasps. “Even though you love it?” _No._

“Certainly.”

“What else would you give up?” _No!_

“Anything. Miss Luna, you know all of this. You’re a Duelist, too.”

“I…” Luna purses her lips, thumbs absently stroking the insides of his wrists. _He hasn’t moved,_ she realizes. _He hasn’t moved and he would give it all up and oh gods he’ll leave too I can’t lose that pure sound again._ “I need to know what kind of person he is.”

Noctis giggles. “Master Ignis is…different. He keeps asking me about my feelings and isn’t interested in my services at all. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me!” His giggles increase in volume for a few frantic moments before tapering into a quiet seriousness. “I’m honestly not sure how he was even drafted into the Dueling Game.”

“Not even one kiss?”

“He says he’s saving himself for a beloved he met when he was a little boy.” He sighs. “It’s so romantic. I can’t believe a person like Master Ignis actually exists in this world.”

 _They haven’t even kissed!_ she thinks wildly. _Noctis must be so touch-starved. It has to be killing him to resist all this attention._

Luna releases one hand from his wrist, cups his cheek. “I can, because _you_ exist in this world. You, a great beauty and keeper of untold magics.”

He leans into the touch and smiles slightly. “I am nothing compared to a sentimentalist in this cynical world.”

> _—can bend his will—_

“Noctis, dear,” she whispers, tracing her hand down his neck. “Let’s not talk about him anymore.” She slides a hand inside his uniform jacket, grazes nails lightly over his nipple, grins when he moans and arches. “Let’s make love.”

“I can’t, Miss Luna.” He pushes back on the bench until her hand slips out. “You know I can’t. It’s against the Code.”

“But your Champion hasn’t touched you. I can tell that you’re aching for release.” She reaches out, presses the heel of her palm against his cock. “Let me heal you like I always have.”

“Stop this!” Noctis reaches the bench’s edge and stumbles off and back, away from Luna’s hands. “My body isn’t yours to have anymore!”

“What are you saying? It’s always been!”

“Because everyone else has allowed it until now.”

Luna’s jaw drops. “You lie.”

“I thought you knew. President Amicitia encouraged me to have affairs with the entire Student Council so I could bring him intelligence.”

“Liar,” she says, knowing full well that’s exactly the kind of thing Gladio would do.

“Of course, I didn’t belong to Treasurer Highwind long enough, but surely you’ve always known how your brother felt—”

“—shut up—”

“—and how he wanted you—”

“—shut up—”

“—and would rather you be happy, even if it meant he never would be. Why do you think he tortured me so much?”

 _His smile is so bright_ , Luna thinks, _it could blind me. I swear it’s acid, burning my eyes out of my head._

“He’s very devoted, Miss Luna,” Noctis says. “He loves you _so much_. Don’t you love him, too? If love’s what you seek, he’ll give it to you. He’d fuck you any way you ask. I could instruct him in what pleases you most, if you want, but I’ll bet he doesn’t need my help—”

> _Ravus, his tongue feverish, spilling oilslick words in her ear: “Unless you defend the things you hold precious, people will steal and spoil them.”_

“Shut up!” Luna punches the Bridegroom in the jaw, spitting. “It’s not enough that Ignis humiliated my brother by defeating him, he has to humiliate _me_ by turning you into this…vulgar brute? Well, if it’s going to take a duel to bring back the sweet Noctis I knew, then I _will_ make the challenge. I’ll save you.”

> _—spoil them—_

Noctis rubs the spot where Luna struck him but continues to smile as she bends over, rips the rose out of his hair, and storms out of the room.

“As you say,” he says, grinning in the emptiness.

* * *

Prompto passes the ball, turns, stops. “Hey, Iggy, Luna’s here!”

Ignis pauses in his dribbling as she approaches. “Lunafreya, is everything okay? I thought Noctis was meeting you—” He stops talking when he sees the rose in her hand.

“Noctis is fine, but you and I have business regarding him.” She hands him the rose. “I assume you know what this means, as well as where and when we should meet tomorrow?”

He nods.

“Good. I’ll see you then.” She turns stiffly and marches away.

“Shit, dude.” Prompto glances back and forth between Ignis and the rapidly retreating Luna. “I don’t know what that was all about, but I get the feeling you really pissed her off somehow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every piece of piano music has been carefully chosen for historical and/or musical resonance. Nothing is accidental. I am a nerd. Guess reasons and win a prize!
> 
> Chapter 5's cursed content: official [Noctis hit count](https://tenor.com/es/ver/utena-tenjou-anthy-himemiya-juri-gif-13319981) is now two. If you're playing the drinking game at home, please drink.


	6. duel 06 :: lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tea, desserts, discussion. a duel. ravus takes a ride. a palm reading. a punishment.

_in the territory of the future revival  
of completely forgotten, undying memories,  
there is the girl with the obsessed eyes of Psyche_  
―J.A. Seazer, “—Angelic Hallucination 《Lewd Demonic Discourse》 Compilation―” (trans. EJ)  
  
  


“I can’t believe,” Ignis says, “you’re indulging me an evening dessert tea.”

“I’ll indulge you anything you ask, Master Ignis. After all, I’m yours.”

“Noctis, really. It’s just stress-baking. You didn’t have to go through so much trouble, and you certainly didn’t need to rob Ardyn of his tea.”

“It’s no trouble at all, and petty theft is the least of my sins.”

“Are you _sure_ he won’t mind that we’ve stolen some of his tea?”

Noctis closes his eyes and shakes his head, smiling. “Even if he did—which he doesn’t—I’m the one who grows, prepares, and blends it for him. I can just make more.”

“Oh.” Ignis bends over to check the cookies baking in the dormitory oven. _The edges don’t look quite dark enough,_ he thinks. _Maybe a minute more._

“Master Ignis, who are you _actually_ worried will get in trouble?”

“Well…”

“Be honest.”

After a long pause, Ignis sighs. “He’s your uncle, so I doubt he’d punish you. It’s pretty selfish, worrying about myself. Not very princely, is it?”

Noctis regards him quietly. He wants to tell Ignis, _No, it’s not, but I don’t care._

He wants to tell Ignis, _Please be more selfish, and let yourself have everything you want._

He wants to tell Ignis, _You understand so very, very little._

He settles on, “Oh, I thought you knew—Uncle Ardyn would punish me long before you.”

“Really? Wait, hold that thought.” Ignis wedges the oven door open with his shoe as he grabs the mitts from the counter. He lets his leg take the blast of heat, pulls one mitt on with his hand and the other with his teeth before he reaches in to grab the cookie sheet. “Turner.”

“Oh, here.” Noctis passes over the black silicone turner with a rose design in the handle.

“Have you ever noticed,” Ignis says as he carefully removes the cookies from the sheet and places them on a cooling rack, “that almost everything here has the academy’s seal on it? The licensing rights must be worth a fortune.”

“I guess,” Noctis says, “when a school’s been around as long as this one, it’s had enough time to get all kinds of molds made.”

Ignis snorts. “Fair point. Okay, those should be ready in a few minutes.” He tucks his hands into his armpits, removes his hands from the mitts, and places mitts and turner onto the counter with a precision that charms Noctis. “Now, what were you saying about Ardyn punishing you before me?”

“It’s simple. You’re not his to punish.”

 _Not everything is a matter of ownership!_ Ignis thinks, biting his lip. _Not everything is like the Code!_

“Besides,” Noctis adds with a little smile, “he adores you. It’s possible he prefers you to me.”

“He does not. Stop messing with me!”

“Master Ignis, are you _blushing_?” He giggles. “Whatever will we tell Prompto?”

“Nothing, because no matter what he says, he is not my boyf—”

“So, what you’re saying,” Noctis interrupts, his giggles becoming genuine throaty laughs, “is that Prompto should be worried about my uncle.”

Ignis’s pink cheeks turn a deeper red. He opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to speak, but no sounds escape his lips.

Noctis suddenly stops laughing and grabs the turner from the counter. With a flat expression, he twirls it like an assassin’s dagger and brings it to Ignis’s throat. “Should _I_ be worried, Master Ignis?”

Ignis swallows. Hard. The color drains from his face. “N-N-N-Noctis, I—”

The kettle whistles.

“Pardon me.” Noctis places the turner back onto the counter. He grabs a tea towel to wrap around one hand, picks up the kettle, and walks it to the teapot on the table. As he pours the water into the pot, he says over his shoulder, “I tease, Master Ignis. But it’s clear that you feel _something_ for my uncle.”

Ignis leans against the kitchen threshold. “It’s…nothing. Well, nothing serious.” He turns the ring on his finger. “In the end, my heart belongs to my beloved.”

“Allow me to take this opportunity to note,” he says softly, “that you constantly critique my use of the language of ownership yet use it yourself so freely.”

“But it’s different!”

“How so?”

“Because it’s not _real_!” Ignis pauses, realizing how terrible he sounds. “Well, not real like it is for you. A different real.”

Noctis extends a hand, pushes it gently against Ignis’s arm. “Excuse me for a moment. I have to put this down.”

Ignis complies, squishing himself against the threshold edge to allow the Bridegroom to slip into the kitchen. Once the kettle is safely deposited on the stovetop and the tea towel draped over his shoulder, Noctis slots himself against Ignis. Braces one arm against the counter, the other on the moulding on the side of his Champion. Their chests press together, thighs entwine.

“It is,” Noctis says, “and it isn’t. You’ve surrendered yourself to this person you call your beloved. A different surrender, yes—but how much more freedom do you have than me? You assess every action against what your beloved would think. Abuse yourself with unrealistic standards more than Vice President Fleuret ever abused me with his teeth. Treat my interest with indifference, deny yourself every desire. But what do I, the Rose Bridegroom, know of such things? Ultimately, it is…” He leans in, skims his cheek across Ignis’s, ghosts lips to his earlobes, breath hot and sharp as kettle steam. “… _as you say._ ”

Instantly, he steps back, folds his hands in front of him, and smiles angelically. “Tea should be ready now. Would you like me to plate your cookies?”

“Umm.” _Gods, what was that?_ “Yes, go ahead.” Ignis watches as Noctis transfers the cookies onto a platter, places it on the table, arranges everything just so. Another dream-like tune drifts from his lips. _What in the world is he doing?_ Ignis touches his own cheek, still tingling. His breathdamp earlobe, now cold. Down, down, _down_ to where he throbs. Where he _begs_.

 _Wait, what am I doing? I can’t!_ Ignis freezes, backs up, squirms—spine against the kitchen wall—as he tries to adjust without touching himself or rutting against the counters like a beast. When that fails, he shoves his hands in his pockets and wills himself calm long enough to do it without riling himself up any further.

 _Deep breaths, Ignis,_ he thinks. _You’re fine. It’s just tea and cookies and Noctis being Noctis._ He inhales and exhales one last time and steps out of the kitchen.

“Ahh, there you are, Master Ignis!” Noctis says with a smile that seems a little too knowing for its own good. _It’s your imagination!_ “Is everything to your liking?”

A wide gesture across the table draws Ignis’s eyes. The tea is poured, and the cookies are set out—along with macarons and petit fours from earlier in the evening. “It looks stunning.”

“Thank you. It was my pleasure.” Noctis takes two long strides, collects Ignis’s hand in his, and kisses the palm. “Perhaps I’ll read this later, but for now, drink before it goes cold.”

Ignis sits, takes a sip, immediately feels the stress melt from his shoulders. A second later, a realization: _he remembered how I take it!_ “Thank you. Your tea is wonderfully soothing.”

“I assume I have Miss Luna and her challenge to thank for these sweets?”

“Yes, well—” Ignis clears his throat and sets his teacup down. “After my parents died, I sometimes got these panic attacks. One of my doctors suggested I channel my anxieties into activities that would help me focus.”

“So, you chose baking?”

“Not at first. Actually, I chose swimming. Then someone on the swim team suggested gymnastics. Baking came later, after I learned how to cook. But suffice to say, when I panic, I bake. Or do some rather unusual stretches. Sometimes both.” Ignis chuckles before popping a petit four into his mouth. “Fair warning if you see me doing handstands or splits in the middle of the night.”

“Ahh, that explains a few things about your impressive duel with Vice President Fleuret.” Noctis brings a hand to his mouth, as if to hide his smile, but doesn’t do a very good job with his fingers splayed. After a moment, he picks up his teacup, takes a few sips, and says, “Which brings us to the challenge itself. It’s your first as defending Champion, and there’s still a lot you don’t know.”

“Yes. I’m at a bit of a loss. What do I need to know?”

“Once we cross the Lucian Gate, you’ll have to draw the Sword of the Father. I know you saw the Vice President do it, but do you think you can do it yourself?”

“It’ll appear from your chest, right? So, I just pull it out and say the thing about the light of revolution.”

“Yes. The words will come to you—no need to memorize them.”

Ignis suddenly looks very concerned. “The sword…can’t hurt you, right?”

Noctis gives him a curious look as he nibbles on a macaron. “Not like that.”

Relief washes over his face, settles his shoulders again. “No, of course it wouldn’t. It’s coming from inside you. You couldn’t walk around every day if it did.”

“You—what—of all—” He doubles over, laughing. “There’s a place the sword goes that’s _not_ inside me, Master Ignis!”

“Oh! Of course, of course!” He watches the Bridegroom laugh, hoping it’s clear from his own expression that he really didn’t know better. Once Noctis catches his breath, Ignis asks, “Just what is the Sword of the Father, anyway?”

“You don’t recognize the name? It’s one of the Lucian Royal Arms.”

“The ancient weapons of the kings?”

“According to the stories, the Father King nurtured the bright soul of his son, the Light King, so that he’d shine on all creation when the time was right. For this reason, the Sword of the Father makes the great greater.”

“You know, all of this is starting to sound like those fairy tales I read when I was a kid. At least…” Ignis trails off, chases the lump in his throat away with a gulp of tea. “I _think_ they were fairy tales.”

“Well, they say the Royal Arms were powerful magical weapons, so it’s no surprise that the Sword of the Father sounds like something out of a legend.”

“Still, it’s hard to believe that any of it is real.”

Noctis shrugs. “There are no contemporary experts that understand how the dynastic bloodlines used magic, but they all accept that the people believed in it enough to have built the monarchy around it.”

“You know an awful lot about it for a layman.”

“That’s my family’s fault. Never get a Caelum started on the Lucian dynasty; you won’t hear the end of it.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head for a moment before inhaling sharply. “That reminds me of another bit of magic: our clothes will transform when you draw the sword. They’ll feel the same but change appearance and become tough like stiff leather.”

“Lightweight armor,” Ignis says, grabbing another couple of macarons. “I remember thinking Ravus’s uniform took on a more royal appearance. So, perhaps the Sword of the Father changes its wielder into how they might have looked if they were in a Lucian dress uniform?”

“Excellent deduction,” Noctis says with a nod.

“It’s almost like the sword summons bits and pieces of the past.”

 _Oh, Master Ignis, how can you see so much, and yet—_ “Who knows?” The Bridegroom shrugs. “The Lucians _are_ a lost line, after all.”

“True. Do you think Lunafreya knows any of this?”

“Most likely. Remember, her brother is many things, but a fool is not one of them. Expect him to prepare her thoroughly and to be at her side, observing the duel, looking for any weakness.”

Ignis nods, gives Noctis a broad smile. “I’m such an utter amateur, and here you are—the very person I’m supposed to be protecting—talking me through the process. You really are the best, Noctis. I’m so lucky to have met you and become your friend.”

“And your _flower_ ,” he says, “who promised you a palm reading and will now deliver on that promise.” He pulls Ignis’s left hand toward him, unrolls the fingers and traces the Love Line at the top of his palm.

“This flower distinction of yours is so weird to me,” he says, fingertips twitching at the sensation, “but you know you don’t have to read my palm now.”

“But I’m the Rose Br—”

“The Rose Bridegroom. Roses, flowers, right. Tell you what.” Ignis gently pulls his hand back. “Why don’t you read my palm when I win?”

“I take it that you intend to?”

“Well, I don’t like any of this, but I can’t very well have you going back to the family I fought to win you back from, now can I?”

Noctis cocks his head to the side. The tiniest of smiles plays around the edges of his lips. “As you say.”

 _My goodness,_ Ignis thinks, _he says that a lot. I wonder why he looks at me so crookedly when he does. And if he really means it._

* * *

The winds are extra strong the next day, stronger than they were during Ignis’s first journey to the Dueling Garden. He swears he feels the stairs sway, though Noctis assures him everything is stable.

“I know it all looks like it’s hanging by thread and prayer,” he says, his voice louder than usual to carry over the gusts, “but trust me—the engineering that made this school is more magic than anything the Lucians ever wielded.”

Ignis isn’t sure if he feels like the science he knows can ever measure up to what he’s seen from Noctis.

The Fleurets are already there, waiting in the Dueling Garden. Luna’s hair is crown-braided and pinned as tight as possible, though wisps still flutter around her pink-cheeked face. Ravus, on the other hand, leaves his platinum hair to nature’s whim, and it shows in its chaotic sweep.

“Lunafreya, please,” Ignis says over eerie whistles and whoops through the Insomnia Academy architecture. “There’s no reason for this. I truly think we’re of one mind. Let’s call this duel off and work together.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m the one who can protect the pure music of the Rose Bridegroom’s soul. The only way to guarantee his safety from you and other corrupting influences is to work within the Dueling Game’s confines, not challenge its construct. It cannot be reasoned around, only through.”

Noctis picks two roses. One is blue, like the bouquet he brought the day of Luna’s challenge. Blue like the flower of House Fleuret. Not quite the blue of his eyes but definitely the blue of Luna’s as he places the bloom on her chest. “Good luck,” he says.

For his champion, a white rose—Noctis has considered other, more appropriate, colors, but his hand always finds the moonface blossoms he secretly prefers above all others—and a little smile. “I wished Miss Luna luck,” he whispers, “but that’s because she’ll need it to beat you, Master Ignis. I just know it.”

Ignis’s heart skips a beat.

Ravus draws the sword from the scabbard at his side: a fine pistol-grip épée with gold filigree and blue cloisonné accents. He presents it to his sister like a squire would his knight. Luna nods and accepts it. Clenching her jaw to set her chin, she adds, “Only a fool could not see this most obvious solution. So, draw your sword, Specs!”

Noctis folds his hands together and begins his prayer: “Rose of the noble Citadel. Power of Somnus that sleeps within me. Heed your master and come forth!”

The light pours out of Noctis’s chest. Ignis remembers that Ravus had placed his hand on the small of Noctis’s back, supported his weight while the Bridegroom sank back. As if to expose the Royal Arm even more. As if to shove its hilt up and forward.

He places a hand there now. Feels the soft heat at the base of the Bridegroom’s spine. It’s soothing, somehow, that even amongst all this inexplicability, Noctis’s body is still a body. It still curves in such a way that a hand fits, responds to touch, stirs with human response.

Cradling Noctis, Ignis draws the sword, saying, “Grant me the power to bring the light of revolution!”

For the first time, he feels the weight of the Sword of the Father in his hands and marvels at its beauty: the black blade and the fuller’s silver inlay, the knucklebow’s graceful arc, and the elaborate wings of the guard, as integral as they are ornamental. In his hand, the whole thing seems to shimmer—bluebright, like a hot summer sky.

Ignis notes that his uniform, in spite of its usual customizations, is now mostly black, white, and gold again upon transformation. However, it now has epaulettes on the shoulders and a fourragère trailing from the right shoulder to a cabochon at his collar. Indigo-blue gems gleam in the epaulettes and cabochon, the same shade as the trim dividing black from white on his torso and cuffs.

He hadn’t really looked at the Rosegroom’s outfit during his first duel, but he does this time. It’s a slim, sleeveless, all-black suit trimmed in white and gold. Noctis sports a similar fourragère and cabochon, though his epaulettes are more like tufted spheres attached to bars than Ignis’s traditional fringed circles. The ruched blue underlayer at the waist and hip emphasizes his curves, and his cape sweeps behind him like a court train. _So similar to the blue on my suit,_ Ignis thinks, _but lighter—an azure like the sky_.

The inverted Citadel emerges from the clouds, all scintillating glass and metal, as the two Duelists line up for battle.

“Mind if I join you over here, Caelum?” Ravus says, stepping off to the side, next to the Bridegroom.

Noctis does not answer.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He nods but takes a single sidestep to increase the distance between them. “You better.”

The distant bells ring, and Luna holds her épée in front of her, as if waiting for a salute. When she doesn’t receive one, she enters en garde position, advances, and lunges. Ignis is quick enough to dodge, using the wide flat of the Sword of the Father to deflect.

“Good,” she says. “You have the right speed. How’s your agility?”

Reprisal. He avoids that, too.

“Very nice! All that athleticism would make you a top-tier beginner in the Fencing Club.” Luna follows his shift back to a neutral position with her eyes. _Just as I suspected,_ she thinks, _he’s using that athleticism to compensate for his lack of skill._

She throws in a renewal, and when he moves to deflect, glides her blade down his. Sparks fly. He jumps back, swordless arm pinwheeling. “Oh, I bet Aranea would have a blast dismantling every one of your sloppy dodges. You clearly have no idea how to even grip a sword properly, much less wield it like a warrior.”

Noting his weakness, she reprises, renews, remises—everything she can to keep him off-balance. It succeeds; while capable of keeping up with her blade, he cannot maintain stable footing.

As he begins to stumble again, Luna feints. That’s enough to send Ignis wrong-footed in the wrong direction, leaving his rose exposed. She goes for the trompement—the final defeat—and thrusts her sword forward, expecting to strike rose.

Her sword finds nothing.

He’s just _not there_.

The shock, not to mention the lack of something to slow her momentum, cause her to stagger instead.

Suddenly, Ignis is two steps to her right— _where in the name of the gods did he even go?—_ and he drops into a split to avoid her blade. Before she can recover, he flails his sword and knocks her rose to the ground.

Bells ring again, this time signaling the end of the duel.

Ignis’s breath comes ragged and gasping, and he stares at the Sword of the Father.

> _Noctis, mouth like a waxing crescent moon, holds a perfect petit four. He eats it in two delicate bites, sucks the chocolate off of his index finger and thumb in a manner Ignis suddenly realizes should be illegal._
> 
> _“According to the stories, the Father King nurtured the bright soul of his son, the Light King, so that he’d shine on all creation when the time was right. For this reason…”_

“…the Sword of the Father makes the great greater,” Ignis says, almost reverently, in time with the memory.

Luna looks down at the broken blossom, at Ignis’s long legs stretching across the patch of red roses. “Hey.” She prods him with a boot. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You disappeared!”

“What are you talking about?”

Noctis turns to Ravus and shakes his head, expression carefully neutral. “You got what you came for, but does she know you’ve used her like this?”

“What do you care, Caelum?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

Ravus frowns, folds his arms.

“How interesting. She’s leveraged your desire for years without consequence, yet all the sudden—”

“You,” he says, staring at Noctis with fury-filled eyes, “should stop right there.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not yours to stop anymore, am I?” The Bridegroom grins before walking toward the Duelists.

“In the fight!” Luna’s voice raises to a shout. “One second you were there, and the next, you weren’t! How did you do that?”

Ignis twists his legs around, jumps to his feet. “I didn’t do anything! Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“Miss Luna!” Noctis says, interrupting before she can respond. “You were wonderful! What skill! No wonder they say you’re one of the world’s finest fencers!”

“You’re…what?” Ignis blinks.

“Didn’t you know, Master Ignis? She’s ranked number four in the world!”

“Which is why I have to know,” Luna says with a hiss, “how the _fuck_ —”

“Peace, Lunafreya! You’re better than that. Leave the profanity to demons like me, right?” Ravus rests a hand on her shoulder and smirks. “Caelum, I assume you’ll be meeting my sister for your piano time again tomorrow?”

“If Master Ig—”

Ignis holds up a hand. “Stop. Just stop. Noctis, answer me honestly: do you enjoy playing piano?”

“Why, yes.”

“If my will was not a factor, would you simply continue playing piano with Lunafreya whenever you felt like it?”

“But I’m—”

“Don’t dodge the question, Noctis.” Ignis puts hand on hip and _glares_. “Answer it.”

 _Well!_ Ravus quirks a brow. _Perhaps Caelum will make a proper Champion of you yet._

The Bridegroom lifts his head and smiles. “Yes, I would.”

“Then consider this my blanket permission to keep your piano dates. You don’t have to ask anymore.”

Noctis swoops down to pluck a nearby pink rose, hands it to Luna. “Pink tomorrow, for apology?”

Luna blinks, staring at the bloom. “Tomorrow?”

“I think my sister is in shock, but she’ll be there.” Ravus chuckles, low and throaty. The sound sends a little frisson down Ignis’s spine. “To be fair, I understand how it feels to lose to you, Scientia. It’s not exactly the kind of thing that leaves one well. Let me handle her.”

Ignis scowls but says nothing, especially once Noctis laces an arm around him. “Come, Master Ignis,” he whispers. “Let’s go home. There’s nothing left for us here.”

* * *

Tonight, End of Night drives Ravus alone. It’s their first solo ride since Gladio initiated him. He enjoys this wind. It’s different than the one that thrashed the Dueling Garden. This wind trails a sharp, straight line. A pursuit, a thrust. He runs a hand through his hair, lets it part the button-down he’s worn half-open for the occasion.

“I saw the power of Somnus,” he says.

End of Night raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“By the gods, it was _beautiful_. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“What about your sister? Will you tell her?”

Ravus turns in his seat, upholstery creaking. “Who do you think I am? I already did.”

“Of course. What did she say?”

“She said it made sense that he couldn’t win without magic. She’s already plotting, but I don’t think she realizes she won’t get another shot.”

End of Night presses a button on the radio, and a recording of Noctis performing Chopin’s “Nocturne No. 8 in D Flat” begins to play. “Enlighten me, my dear Ravus. What does Luna hear when she listens to Noct play? I confess I know very little about the finer points of music, as that was not the art I opted to pursue.”

“What Lunafreya _thinks_ she hears is what she heard—or what she _remembers_ she heard—in me. She was such a genius, her improvisations covered my complete lack of talent. I was awful, but she insisted I play. Even then, I couldn’t refuse her. She was just so happy. Eventually, we were asked to perform, and I knew our fraud would be discovered. So, I quit and made sure I hurt her terribly so she’d never ask me to play again.”

“I see. Well, memory is indeed a strange thing, lying to us so frequently. That said, I’m not sure that quite answers my question.”

Ravus throws his head back and laughs. “I’m no musician, I was an utter failure, but even I hear it. Listen, listen—his delicate fingering, the duality of sounds, the steady rhythm like a heartbeat beneath all that lyrical embellishment. Isn’t it obvious? To her, that must sound like _love_.”

“Oh, you are _dangerous_. If only I had met you sooner, imagine how much more dangerous we could have been.” End of Night hooks fingers into Ravus’s belt loops and drags him across the car onto him. “But don’t worry—there’s still plenty of trouble for us to make.”

He holds Ravus by the waist and lets the younger man do the work of mouthing his neck, rolling his hips, grinding down. Moaning, panting, reaching in to pull out his cock and stroke him until he comes.

End of Night doesn’t have to press the pedals or shift or handle the wheel to drive. He doesn’t need to do anything. He never has, not when all roads lead to his darkness.

* * *

Ignis is almost asleep when Noctis takes a seat beside him on his bed and picks up his left hand.

“Huh?” He blinks, bleary-eyed and confused, as the Bridegroom rubs his thumb across each crease. “Wait, what are you—”

“You won, Master Ignis, remember? I just wanted to wait until you were relaxed. You were so nervous earlier.” Noctis smiles, and there’s something in his eyes that completely disarms him.

“Okay.” He is surprised by his voice—rough, barely a whisper.

He spends a few moments studying Ignis’s hand, head crooking this way and that, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Finally, he looks up and says, “Your palm tells the story of a difficult youth. Tragedy, fear, loneliness, problems with concentration. Prompto mentioned nightmares, and that’s reflected here, too. But also brilliance, such a brilliant mind. You could be an incredible warrior, too, you know—you have the talent for it. None of this, though, is new information.”

“Mmm, I guess not…?” Ignis yawns, resettles his position to watch Noctis’s eyes, his hands.

Noctis squeezes the pads below Ignis’s fingers, testing their fleshiness. “Apologies, but the future holds continued trouble for your eyes. A sweet tooth, yes. So tactile. You like things you can touch. Some might call that sensualism, Master Ignis. Ahh, but you’re a romantic! Of course, I knew this when you appeared in my garden in search of the roses, not the flower who kept them. Or is kept _by_ them.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I know you weren’t familiar with the Dueling Game, so no need to protest. I see here you’re going to age gracefully. And right here—a loving marriage someday to a person you’ve…” Noctis pauses. Swallows. Breathes. “…known for a long time.”

“Really?” He perks up, steals a glance at the ring on his right hand. “I mean, I guess it doesn’t say who, does it? No names or descriptions.”

“I’m afraid not.” He recovers, winks. “It could be Prompto, for all we know.”

Ignis gives Noctis a playful swat. “Don’t _you_ start, too!”

The two laugh for a moment before Noctis asks, “Do you want me to continue?”

“There’s more?”

“A little.”

“Go ahead.”

“Unlike most, who never rise to their potential or squander opportunities to change their fates, you’ve made the most of what fortune presents you. The more you do this, the better your chances of survival.”

Ignis smirks. “Way to be dramatic, Noctis.”

“Someday, you’ll be confronted with a choice that will change your entire life. Take your time to make it thoughtfully.”

“Umm, okay. I will.”

“You’re keeping some very deep secrets, Master Ignis. Some so deep, you don’t even know you’re keeping them. Others, you most definitely know but are too afraid to speak them.” The Bridegroom lowers his eyes and says in a voice so low, Ignis almost doesn’t hear him, “Perhaps we are more alike than you realize.”

 _What does he mean by that?_ Ignis thinks. _Is Noctis afraid to tell me—_

“One final thing,” Noctis says, cutting off his Champion’s train of thought. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you could be a great warrior. Please consider visiting the Fencing Club. I think you’d learn a lot from Treasurer Highwind.”

“Why fencing and not, say, kendo?”

“Vice President Fleuret is Captain of the Kendo Club.”

Another yawn—this one stretching Ignis’s jaw so hard, he swears he can feel it pop—escapes him, and he nods. “Oh, that makes sense.”

“You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?”

He nods again.

“Then let me help.” Noctis strokes Ignis’s hair and hums. Another tune, totally different, but vaguely familiar. Half-dreamed. And now, it chases Ignis into a dream, into _the_ dream he keeps having. The beach that feels so much like a home. Blue waters—like eyes—he wants to swim in but won’t. And now, there are birds there, above, crying a song he knows he’ll hear again from lips as pink as the shells he could gather but doesn’t.

* * *

It’s rare that Noctis experiences tenderness, but this night, there are hands massaging rose oil into his skin, working knots out of his muscles.

“Are you enjoying your new Champion?”

“Yes,” Noctis says, voice low and thick, “though not the way you’re insinuating.”

“I’m shocked.” Teasing kisses pepper his shoulders. “He’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

The hands pause. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

Noctis sighs. “Yes.”

“Because he won’t fuck you?” Oiled fingers trace their way down his spine.

“N-not exactly.”

“Then why?”

Noctis feels those fingers press into the cleft of his ass. He tenses.

“Why?”

Noctis sucks in breath as they circle his entrance.

“You _will_ answer me.”

“I—” Two fingers drive into him, hard and fast. “I can’t!”

“ _Why_?”

“Because I don’t know!”

The other hand turns his head roughly, clamps his jaw, and squeezes. “Oh, I think you do, Noct. I think I’m going to make you tell me. And I think you’re going to scream the answer when you come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [aiko_lpez](https://twitter.com/aiko_lpez)'s amazing illustration of Ignis's first draw of the Sword of the Father from Noctis's chest, which is shown in this chapter, can be found [here](https://app.box.com/s/ftr9wjpxtfo5b7lbzv7tv5529upyj2py). Once again, I cannot thank her enough for her amazing work, which captures not only the _Utena_ aesthetic, but also my narrative's emotional resonance. Please go tell her how awesome she is!
> 
> Chapter 6's ~~cursed~~ **blessed** content: let's all take a moment to reflect on how sweet it is that Ravus kept playing piano with Luna as a child, even though he sucked so terribly at it, just because it made her happy.


	7. duel 07 :: espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the student council learns how ignis wins. aranea doubts his integrity. ignis visits the fencing club. ravus and gladio observe. a plot is formed. two master fencers square off.

_why a destiny of massacre, cruelty?_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Cradled in the Grave of the World -In the Hands of the World-” (trans. Verthandi)  
  
  
  


The elevator to the Student Council chambers rises.

“If it cannot break its egg’s shell,” says President Gladiolus Amicitia, “a chick will die in the dark without being born.”

“We are the chick. The world is our egg,” says Vice President Ravus Nox Fleuret.

“If we don’t crack the world’s shell, we will die in the dark without being born,” Secretary Lunafreya Nox Fleuret says.

“Smash the world’s shell!” Treasurer Aranea Highwind says.

“For the sake of the light of revolution!” they say in unison.

Luna is the first to sit this time, her face a mask of perfect neutrality. Aranea watches as Ravus takes a seat right beside his sister but, to her surprise, does not engage. Instead, his eyes follows Gladio hungrily.

 _No,_ Aranea thinks. _Not hungry—famished and expectant._

“We have new intelligence,” Gladio says, “as well as a new letter in the wake of Lunafreya’s loss.” He slides an opened envelope with a page sticking out across the conference table. “I assume everyone received the letter from End of Night announcing the next duel to take place following the May Ball.”

“How convenient for End of Night to wait until after one of Insomnia Academy’s largest social events.” Aranea snickers. “Are you sure _you’re_ not the one pulling the strings, Gladio? Everyone knows you live for this.”

Ravus clicks his tongue and scoffs. “That’s asinine, even for you, Aranea. You might as well accuse my sister of being End of Night because she chairs the May King and May Queen selection committees.”

Once again, it is Luna who stops the bickering. This time, however, she merely raises a finger before saying, “Enough.” She closes her other hand over Ravus’s. “I appreciate your spirited defense, Ravus, but it isn’t necessary. Our colleague knows that no one here is actually End of Night.” She bats her lashes and stares, the blue of her irises intense in the early light. “Don’t you, Aranea?”

 _Gods, how did a loss make her even more confident and assured?_ “Yeah.” She leans back, shakes her head. “Yeah, of course. Just giving you shit, Gladio.”

“There, see?” Luna smiles. “Now, let’s discuss what was learned from my duel with Ignis Scientia. Here, I must thank my brother for serving as a second pair of eyes. Together, we were able to compare experiences and draw conclusions neither of us would’ve reached without mutual cooperation.”

“How generous of you both to share,” Gladio says. Frees two buttons from their buttonholes to loosen his jacket collar, offering a peek of clavicle. “Well, go on.”

Darting his tongue across an incisor, Ravus chuckles. “Don’t be so impatient. Let’s start with the most important revelation: the reason Scientia keeps winning, despite his utter lack of any fighting ability, is that he’s using the power of Somnus.”

Aranea practically leaps out of her chair, palms slapping the table. “You’re fucking kidding—the miracle power? How?”

“That,” Luna says, “we don’t know for certain but suspect it’s related to how he obtained his Ring of the Lucian Rose. If Noctis knows he hasn’t told me yet. He has, however, said that Ignis isn’t interested in him. They haven’t even kissed, by Noctis’s own admission.”

Gladio’s eyebrows jump. “Now _that_ is a surprise. We’re all aware of the Bridegroom’s special allure—”

Aranea clears her throat as she retakes her seat.

“Your objection has been duly noted multiple times, Councillor,” he says, “so there’s no need to reiterate. We _know_ you don’t like him. The point stands.” A frown crosses Gladio’s face. “Is Ignis not…interested in men? What a shame that would be.”

“A shame for Pretty Boy?” Aranea lifts a hand to her mouth and chuckles behind it. “Or for you?”

“Hush,” Luna says. “According to Noctis, Ignis is ‘saving himself’ for someone he met when he was a child.”

Aranea drops her hand. “Are you serious? No, you can’t be. You absolutely _cannot_ be serious.”

“Since when has Noctis ever lied?”

“I’m not talking about Pretty Boy! You’re telling me this new guy is turning down the easiest piece of ass at Insomnia Academy because he’s _saving himself_ for his childhood sweetheart?”

Ravus is the first to break the seconds-long silence following Aranea’s exclamation. “Since everyone’s thinking it, I’ll just go ahead and say it. Not everyone is like our playboy President.”

He grins, meeting Aranea’s sharp eyes. _I’ve noticed how you watch me, Highwind—my eyes, hands, mouth. It’s tempting to let my lips drift a little too close to Luna, just to see you seethe. Because that’s what you’re really waiting for, an opportunity to save the beloved you’re saving_ yourself _for. But for now, take the opening I’ve left you. Let you think yourself so clever, even though Gladio and I have been obvious beyond belief—_

“Or you,” Aranea says.

“Touché, fencer.” Ravus claps twice, achingly slow. “Now, why don’t we go to my dojo and see how well you take a real hit?”

“Ask your _best friend_ how well my rapier works.”

“That’s _enough_!” Gladio slams a fist against the table so hard, the wood groans in protest. Even Ravus shrinks a little at the President’s rage. “Aranea, can it. You’ve had a fucking attitude since the moment we sat down. And Ravus, you’re done baiting her, or you’re done on the Council, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, sounding properly contrite. “Apologies, Highwind.”

Aranea waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine—apology accepted or whatever. It’s just that none of this makes any fucking sense. How come some stranger who isn’t even on the Student Council is able to use the power of Somnus? Do we have any idea what his agenda is? Can we even be sure he’s not an agent of End of Night?”

Ravus strokes his lips. “These are all excellent questions.”

“I can continue to gather information from Noctis himself,” Luna says. “He seems to trust me enough to speak openly about his relationship with Ignis.”

“Good,” says Gladio, “and your service to the Council is most appreciated. In the meantime, let’s use the upcoming May Dance as a cover to hunt for additional observational opportunities. Let us also not forget that someone will be issuing a challenge. Whoever among us that may be, we should prepare to support that Councillor any way we can.”

Luna nods. “Of course.”

“Sure,” Aranea says.

“Not that anyone wants my help,” Ravus says with a shrug, “but you’ll have it.”

Gladio smiles. “And of course, mine is always guaranteed.”

* * *

Ignis stands on the balcony overlooking the salle, waiting for Noctis. _He said he’d be here after he was done with the roses, but he’s at least fifteen minutes late by now._

“Hey. You’re the one they call the Prince, right? Ignis Scientia?”

He spins and sees a pewter-haired woman in a fencer’s jacket and knickers. When he nods, she extends a hand. “Aranea Highwind. Welcome to the Fencing Club. You know they call me the Dragon, right?”

Noctis and Prompto had given him the rundown over lunch. How Aranea Highwind had taken Luna from a mid-tier fencer to one of the world’s best. How no one—not even the heads of Insomnia Academy—dared cross her. And, of course, how she earned her fearsome nickname at both tongue- and sword-point.

Ignis shakes her hand. “So I’ve heard.”

“You here to slay me now that you took out Luna?”

“Why, do you want to duel for Noctis, too?”

Aranea makes a face like someone spit on her cheek. “Don’t know if you heard, but Pretty Boy isn’t my type. Personally, though, I’m beginning to wonder why they call _me_ the Dragon when _you’re_ the one with all the prizes.”

“Probably because everything out of your mouth is smoke and ashes.” Ignis smirks. “Or so I’ve also heard.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and her lip curls. “Ooo, I _like_ you. Just for that, I’ll let you in on a secret: why everyone wants the Rose Bridegroom. Whoever’s engaged to him gains miracle powers.”

Ignis thinks about this for a moment. “Sounds convenient, but I don’t recall ever making anything miraculous happen. I know for sure I’ve been passing all my tests on my own merits.”

A soft chuckle. “No miracles, huh? That’s not what _I’ve_ heard, but I’ll buy that you’re doing all your own homework. In any case, what brings you to my lair?”

“Well, Noctis suggested I could learn more about swordsmanship from observing you. Actually, I was supposed to meet him—”

“Check your texts.”

“What?”

“He texted you about that already. Texted Luna, too—said you probably wouldn’t remember to look.” She chuffs. “Pretty Boy’s really got your number, huh?”

With a frown, Ignis takes out his phone, presses the home button, and swipes to reveal his notifications. Sure enough, there are four texts from Noctis:

> **Uncle Ardyn asked me to come early today.**  
>  **I think he’s painting again.**  
>  **You’ll have to go to the Fencing Club without me.**  
>  **I’m sorry, Master Ignis.**  
> 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, he ain’t coming. Stop lurking, and get your ass down here. Time to see what you’re made of.” She grabs him by the arm, half-drags him down the stairs past clusters of students running parry drills, and points to a doorway. “I dug through our uniforms and found one I think should fit you. You’ll see it on the bench. Go change.”

The Champion raises an eyebrow but doesn’t protest as he pads off toward the locker room.

Luna wanders over to Aranea as the Captain grabs a pair of sabres from the equipment wall. “I thought you didn’t trust him,” she says.

“I don’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.” Aranea lets a smile crack her schooled expression. “As far as he’s gonna know, I’m the only one among us who has no interest in Noctis and therefore no reason to duel—oh, excellent.” She interrupts herself as Ignis emerges in fencer’s whites only a tad too loose in the shoulders and short in the leg. “Good to see I was right about that uniform.”

“Right enough, anyway,” Ignis says, bending over to tug at his socks.

Aranea rolls her eyes. “Club members pay their own fucking way. You should thank your lucky stars I have equipment to lend you.”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you, Miss Highwind.”

“Just so you know, I can’t stand that kind of formality. Call me Aranea, because I’m probably gonna call you Prince whether you like it or not. Hang on.” She turns. “Luna, you mind lining the members up for bouts?”

“No problem.” Luna nods and walks back to the salle. Ignis can hear her clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Here, take this.” She shoves a sabre into his hand and grins. “Actually, if you really hate it, I’ll call you Ignis. I’m not cruel. But I like nicknames, and I gotta admit, I really like yours. Now, show me a fighting stance with that sword.”

The sabre is much smaller and lighter than the Sword of the Father, so it takes Ignis a moment to adjust to holding it. Once he finds a grip that feels both secure and comfortable, he extends the sword in front of him and stands with one leg in front, one behind, knees slightly bent. “I guess it makes sense for you to dislike Noctis if you dislike formality so much. It seems Lunafreya is the person he’s least formal with, and even she is still ‘Miss Luna.’”

“It’s far from the only reason why I hate Pretty Boy, but yeah, his whole fake formality schtick is part of the equation.” She studies his stance for a moment. “You look like you’re pretending to be a pirate.”

“What?”

“Your stance—it’s all wrong. Watch.” Aranea gives him a firm nudge at the knee with her foot, and he almost topples. “See? Your center of gravity is off. You’re a gymnast, right? Why would you do that?”

“Sorry, I’m really not used to this.”

“Forget the sword for a moment. If someone was running at you, how would you position yourself to try and grab him?”

Ignis spreads his legs, lowers himself into a squat.

“Good. Now, hold the sword up like that same person was going to hit—” Before she can finish, he raises the blade into position. “Exactly!” Aranea imitates his position and rotates it to the side. “See how I’ve turned your same stance to make a smaller target of the body? That’s Fighting 101—a good, basic stance in a nutshell.”

“I thought there was more to it than that.” He lowers the sword, relaxes. “Lunafreya made it sound very complicated.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She was talking about _fencing_. That’s a philosophy, and you’re not looking for a philosophy—you want to _fight_. Fighting is straightforward as fuck. That’s why Pretty Boy sent you to me.”

“But you hate him.”

“I do. He’s a liar, a degenerate, and an egomaniac. That doesn’t make him _wrong_.”

“You’re giving someone who spends half his time tending roses an awful lot of credit.”

“And you, like Luna, think far too well of him. Neither of you see how he manipulates everyone around him with that fake demureness, how he bats those thick lashes and gets everything he wants. At least she isn’t cruelly innocent like you.” Aranea gets a faraway look in her eyes and says, almost to herself, “Not anymore, anyway.”

* * *

_There’s something nostalgic,_ Gladio thinks, _about Ravus sitting beside me, our legs barely dangling through rails. His head on my shoulder as he watches his sister dominate the others. My eyes flickering between him and whoever else happens to catch my attention. It’s like we’re kids again—discovering ourselves, our power, our place in the world._

In this moment, however, his attention is almost exclusively on Aranea and Ignis. She is intense, lovely—and right now, it takes most of his willpower not to stare at her ass. Perhaps his greatest failure thus far, he takes some small pleasure in the knowledge that she pretends he’s already fucked her. That she acts like he doesn’t pursue her because he’s already had her. No one needs to know how easily she could have hurt him the night he tried.

And Ignis, how he moves obediently alongside her as she instructs, demonstrates. So lithe, all compressed strength. What he wouldn’t give to feel those muscles uncoil beneath him. Somehow, knowing that no one—not even Noctis—has managed to seduce him makes the scene below that much sexier.

Gladio smirks. _How amusing that two of the academy’s most beguiling students are together right now,_ he thinks, _yet they don’t even know they’re being watched. They couldn’t know, even if they looked—but why would they? They have no reason to move, to face this dark, distant balcony corner._

He lowers his opera glasses for a moment, turning to his comrade. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Of course.” Ravus doesn’t avert his gaze but reaches down to stroke Gladio’s ankle. It’s meant more to ground him than to seduce the other. Being this elevated, watching Luna spar against fencers a fraction of her skill level from so far above—it leaves him disquieted, unmoored.

 _This is real_ , he thinks. _This bone, solid as concrete. The skin that covers it. Hmm, Gladio should moisturize his legs a bit more. But beneath that, blood coursing. All of it through a body I’ve kissed and sucked and fucked. All connected to this ankle. This ankle to a foot resting on a floor that I am definitely sitting on, that I am definitely not falling through—_

His mind recalls Ignis disappearing, the power that allowed Luna’s épée to—for the barest fraction of a second—pass through him.

> _“I saw the power of Somnus,” he says. The wind is strong enough to pass through him, but it doesn’t. Ravus’s body is a solid constant in this moment._
> 
> _End of Night raises an eyebrow. “And?”_
> 
> _He briefly considers what it would be like to give up his body. Become one with the wind and possess such power. It thrills him in ways he’s never known. “By the gods, it was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never wanted anything more.”_
> 
> And by the gods, how End of Night guided them both through the black without ever crashing. As if he, too, could pass through anything. Through guardrails, through walls, through trees, through Death itself.

“I’ve also been thinking,” Ravus says, his voice soft but cut with emotions Gladio can’t quite identify.

“Oh? What about?”

“You’re well known for your playboy antics. I think it’s time you took advantage of that and made your interest in Scientia known.”

The President narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Send him something beautiful to wear to the May Dance.”

“To what end?”

Ravus finally lowers his opera glasses and faces Gladio. “Are you completely daft? To grease the wheels of his attendance, of course. Scientia’s a loner. He won’t go without encouragement. This is the first year he’s ventured outside the safety of his tiny social bubble. Besides, it’s clear from his uniforms he’s the kind of man who knows the conventions of high fashion but cannot afford to simply buy his way into them. He needs someone to do it for him.”

“I had no idea you were interested, Ravus.”

 _Not seriously—I just pay attention and enjoy the game. But, for the sake of riling you up, I’ll let you believe I am._ “Are you jealous?”

Gladio clamps his hand around the hand caressing his ankle. Ravus sucks in air through his teeth. “Maybe a little. But what about—”

“I’ll handle Caelum.”

“Can I trust you to do that?” He squeezes. “Your history with the Bridegroom suggests otherwise.”

“He won’t even know it’s me.” Ravus twists his hand free, shakes it as if trying to regain sensation. “You misunderstand my role, Gladio. I’m not here to do anything to anyone, merely arrange the pieces on the board. Once I handle that, they’ll play the game without any further encouragement.”

“You and End of Night have been plotting without me, haven’t you?” The President frowns as he thinks, _I’ve been afraid of this, of abandonment, obsolescence—_

“Not at all. When I saw how Highwind reacted at our meeting today, I realized she’s the next challenger. She just doesn’t know _why_ yet. I do, and I intend to make her see it.”

Gladio laughs, hoping his preternaturally observant friend doesn’t catch the note of relief in it. “You’re not going to tell me what you saw, are you?”

“And ruin the surprise? Of course not. Where’s the fun in that?” Ravus shoots a hand out, catches Gladio by the sleeve, and tugs. “Come here.” He pulls his legs back from the railings, opens them to make a space in his lap and against his body for Gladio to rest. He does, pressing back flat against Ravus’s chest. Ravus reaches his arms around and begins to undo the buttons on Gladio’s uniform. “You’re always leaving this open for everyone else. Why not me? Why not now?”

“We were spying.”

“Mmm, true.” Ravus rests his chin on Gladio’s shoulder. “I don’t think we are now.”

“I should say not.”

Once the Vice President has the President’s chest exposed, he begins to lightly graze his nails along the lines of his pectorals, abdominals, obliques. Clavicle, sternum, ribs. This body, still grounding, but also so much like his own. Built and sculpted by years of weights, sword drills, resistance training. _Certainly he has a fair bit more bulk, since I’ve always, like Luna, preferred the finesse of the lighter blade. But there is beauty in this breadth, mirrored between our bodies. Mirrored in End of Night’s._

“I’ve always wondered,” Ravus says, syllables crisp and breath keen against the side of his neck, “how End of Night found you.”

“How does he find anyone?” Gladio chuckles. The vibrations make Ravus shiver. “The same way darkness finds any of us, I suppose—which is to say, it doesn’t. It’s always there, waiting, until you’re ready to embrace it.”

“Speaking of embracing—”

“Ravus, that’s sloppy.”

“Even for me?”

“Especially for you. I’m almost ashamed at that segue.”

It’s Ravus’s turn to chuckle. “Then don’t let me make any more.”

Were Aranea and Ignis to cast their eyes up to that dark, distant corner, they might have caught a glimpse of the President and Vice President rising half-dressed from the balcony floor. Seen unreadable lips shaping silent sentences, strong hands tugging bodies from shadows into corridors, from barely visible to obscured.

* * *

Once the last Fencing Club student files out, Aranea shouts down the strip: “Luna! Get your ass over here! I need a second opinion.”

“Are you like that with everyone?” Ignis stretches, pulls at the shoulders of his fencing jacket.

She shrugs. “I’m the Dragon. Besides, it’s Luna.”

“Seems rude, though.”

“Fine, I’ll be nicer, you monster.” Aranea huffs strongly enough to send a few locks of her hair upward. When Luna finally comes over, she smiles wickedly and says in honeythick tones, “So, Lunafreya, as my very best student and the fourth-best fencer in the world—which I _still_ maintain is a travesty of under-ranking—would you kindly provide me with your unvarnished opinion of Prince Scientia here?”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “Umm, excuse me?”

Ignis rolls his eyes. “Way to lay it on thick.”

“Prince. Opinion. Gimme.”

“He has a little talent. Excellent athletic ability. Strong stamina and flexibility, as well as good instincts and a head for improvisation. However, his footwork is atrocious, he can barely handle a blade, and he has no training or discipline to speak of.”

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Lunafreya.”

She meets his eyes with a frigid gaze. “It’s a literal miracle you’re the reigning Dueling Champion, and I feel disgraced that I lost to you.”

Ignis shrinks.

Aranea laughs. “Hey, you asked for it. So, Luna, wanna give the Prince a demonstration of what it looks like when two fighters really go at it?”

Luna cracks a smile. “You planning to cheat again?”

“Don’t I always?”

“I’m not in the mood to play nice, so let’s fight sabre for a change.”

“Prince,” Aranea says, her voice a slow drawl over licked lips, “give the lady your sword.”

Ignis hands Luna the sabre. “Should I—”

“I would back up a bit. We probably won’t cross the strip, but just in case, it’s better to be prepared for this fight to get messy.”

He nods and gets safely out of the way of the two women.

Luna’s and Aranea’s eyes meet across the strip before they slide their masks down. This isn’t a serious bout in the traditional sense of points scored, but they both know it’ll be an _assault_ in the general and specific senses of their sport. It’s to be an exhibition and an exercise in brutality.

As Ignis expects, it’s Aranea that makes the first move after their salutes—an advance-lunge so fast, he barely has time to register it before Luna is moving to parry. In response, Aranea uses her shoulder to shove Luna to the side, brings her sword around, shifts feet, and moves back into stance.

 _I didn’t even know that was a thing you could do,_ Ignis thinks as he watches Luna react by letting the momentum carry her for a moment before she adjusts her feet and shifts into a defensive stance, anticipating Aranea’s next advance.

And advance she does, a slow step and lunge that Luna almost doesn’t intercept. Ignis finds himself holding his breath and letting it out in a hot gulp when Luna responds with a flashy circular cut that Aranea clearly didn’t see coming. She tacks on a quick thrust that Aranea parries sloppily, the blade curling over the hilt and striking her hand.

“Shit!” Aranea retreats a couple of steps, swaps her sword into her other hand, shakes the empty one. “That was a damn fine whip-over, bitch.” Passes the sword back to her dominant hand. “All right, let’s resume the beatdown.”

“Beatdown?” Luna chuckles. “You missed a moulinet. Are lizard eyes so bad, Miss Dragon?”

“Ooo, just for that, I’m going to make sure you leave with so many bruises.”

The trash talk isn’t for show, Ignis realizes, as the assault continues. Both women grunt and snarl at one another as they engage, disengage, direct, and feint. The body-to-body clashing he saw at the start increases in frequency and intensity. If he didn’t know the swords were blunted and tipped, he would swear they were really trying to kill each other.

Suddenly, Luna hops past Aranea to avoid an attack; it’s a false one, however, and Aranea launches herself almost unfathomably high into the air. Luna’s eyes widen. As the sabre comes down, Luna opts to dodge rather than take the blade. Aranea is there instantly and turns to thrust her blade right under Luna’s chin.

“Gotcha,” she says.

“My goodness,” Ignis says, utterly in awe.

Aranea steps back and pulls back her mask, shakes her sweat-damp hair free. Luna also pulls off her mask but drops it instead, opting to lower her head and cover her bent knees with her hands.

“I always forget,” Aranea says, her words tumbling over heaving breaths, “what a beast you are with a sabre, you’re such a godsdamned queen of composure with foil. You’re really fucking incredible, you know that, right?”

“Still beat me, and you didn’t even cheat.” Luna lifts her head up and says, her voice half gasp and half growl, “ _You said you were going to cheat._ ”

“I _always_ plan to—just didn’t this time. You would’ve beaten me if you hadn’t spent the entire club period actually training people as opposed to working with a newbie.”

Luna chuckles and finally loosens the thick braid pinned to the back of her head. “You know, I usually don’t take your excuses for why you win, but I’ll take that one. Gods, I’m exhausted.”

“Go home, dear. You were amazing.”

Ignis nods. “Yes, that was magnificent!”

“And now you know why I was so disappointed.” She turns to Aranea. “You’re going to be on drill duty for a while, you know that, right?”

“Least I could do. One last thing? Mind telling Ravus no hard feelings one more time for me?”

“Best to let it be,” Luna says, “not that he’s even around much most evenings. I swear it’s like when he and Gladio were thirteen all over again, sneaking out all the time.”

Aranea shakes her head. “They really aren’t being subtle, are they? Well, then enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“No, and I’ll try.” Luna jogs into the locker room, grabs a blue and black schoolbag, and leaves with a final wave.

 _Ravus and Gladio, plotting?_ Ignis thinks. _And have they really known each other for so long?_

But before he can consider the subject any further, Aranea flicks his forehead. “So, Prince, what’d you think?”

“You two are incredible.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Or, better yet, tell me something _you_ didn’t.”

Ignis folds his arms. “Well,” he says slowly and thoughtfully, “a lot of what I saw seemed to be divided into three basic movesets: attacks, parries, and dodges. Attacks target the opponent’s body. Parries target the opponent’s weapon in an attempt to either deflect it and create an opening to the body or avoid the opponent’s targeting of your body. Dodges temporarily remove your body from a targeted position.” He pauses. Frowns. “Am I correct?”

“Holy fuck,” Aranea says, clapping her hands with glee, “you’re going to be so easy to teach. What’s your number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the joy of having Gladio and Ravus working with End of Night so "early," as it were, is getting to spend more time with them when they both know they're using each other while still having to rely on one another. It's a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Chapter 7's cursed content: imagining Aranea doing that super-fake sweetie voice she does with Luna and Ignis. For some reason, my brain conjures something between Bellatrix Lestrange and Mona Lisa Vito. I KNOW IT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE BUT THAT'S MY BRAIN.


	8. duel 08 :: moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noctis models. ardyn extends an offer. ravus and luna discuss the dance. ignis and noctis move. their first night in a new bed.

_time is pounded to the beat of hidden devils_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Revive! Infinite History of the [Middle Ages]” (trans. EJ)  
  
  
  


> **Master Ignis: Apologies in advance for the barrage of messages.  
>  ** **Just in case Uncle Ardyn loses track of time again, let me tell you how to find his studio.  
>  ** **When you enter the penthouse, pass the kitchen and dining spaces, then cross the central living area.  
>  ** **You should see a door right across from the couches.  
>  ** **You’ll enter a small sleep nook, which you can simply pass through to reach the main studio space.  
>  ** **Also, I have a new cookie recipe and am excited to hear your opinion.  
>  ** **Have a lovely day!  
>  ** **I will see you this afternoon.**

Despite having visited for a handful of tea times, Ignis still hadn’t ventured past the table where they always take their tea. Not that he couldn’t see everything else beyond it; after all, an open floor plan doesn’t allow for many secrets.

Ignis finds himself drawn to the planetarium at the center of the room. He’d always wondered why neither of them had ever mentioned it— _maybe it doesn’t work anymore?_ —but clearly the space had originally been built with its primacy in mind. All daily activities, from cooking to eating to living, clearly revolve around it. And radiating out from the room, doors to other areas of the Chairman’s penthouse—including the door to the studio where he’s to meet Ardyn and Noctis.

The sleep nook is cozy, perhaps a bit too small for a man Ardyn’s size. _He’d probably have to curl up into a fetal position just to get into this bed_ , Ignis thinks with a giggle. _I’ll bet this place is for models to rest between sessions._ Based on Noctis’s messages, it seems that Ardyn is the kind of artist who works in unstoppable bursts, and a space like this would be a kindness to his model.

He opens the door, and his first sight is Ardyn, half-perched on an antique stool, half-leaning against a metal cabinet. His face is fixed on the tray in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the one brush tucked behind an ear and the one stabbed through his sloppy bun. He holds a palette of mostly warm colors, mutters softly to himself in a language Ignis doesn’t understand but vaguely recognizes.

Meanwhile, Noctis lounges across a chaise in a deep plum and burnished gold furisode patterned with red spider lilies. The sleeves spread like butterfly wings as a hookah pipe sways between his hooked fingers. His head is thrown back, lips slightly parted, throat a supple arc to exposed scars, sternum, collarbone. Long, muscular legs cross at the knee—one foot flat against a pile of roses and assorted satins, the other pointed to lengthen the line of the calf. Half-closed eyes peer down his nose; he looks ethereal, haughty. Ignis wonders if this is a Noctis that has always existed, but he’s never been allowed to know—a Noctis lost to the veil of mist and dreams, peering through at the antics of pitiful mortals.

Ignis clears his throat.

Ardyn turns. “Ahh, sweet Ignis!” he says cheerfully. “I was just wrapping up. Do give me one last moment before I lose my vision.” He grabs a small palette knife from the tray and scrapes it against the canvas for a few moments, then fishes the brush from behind his ear, dabs into the orange-red blend on his palette, and applies it a few places Ignis can’t see. Taking a few steps back to study his work, he says at last, “That’s done for now, I think. At least the part that requires you sitting still. You can move, Noct.”

“Thank the gods!” Noctis immediately drops the hookah pipe, stretches, and rolls his neck. “I swear you do this to torment me. Thanks for saving me, Master Ignis.”

“Don’t mind him.” Ardyn rolls his eyes. “Noct’s been my model since he was old enough to ask.”

“What are you working on?”

“A series of reimagined _Alice in Wonderland_ illustrations. Noct has been modeling The Caterpillar for our last two sessions. Care to take a peek?”

Ignis circles toward the canvas, stares at the surreal beauty draped across a field of roses and mushrooms. She— _that is clearly a woman_ —doesn’t look _exactly_ like Noctis, but it’s clear she’s visually inspired by him. If Noctis were a caterpillar wrapped in silks and a smoke-woven chrysalis, he could be her brother.

“They’re all women,” Ardyn says, “except Alice. I thought it would be an interesting spin on the mythology. Now that I think about it, Ignis, you’d make a _lovely_ Alice. Are you interested? Don’t worry—you wouldn’t be wearing a petticoat. Probably something in tweed.”

“Be thankful for that, Master Ignis. Petticoats are itchy.”

“Ungrateful nephew.”

“Unreasonable uncle.”

Ignis chuckles. “I’ll think about it.”

“If it’ll convince you, I can show you my sketches and what I have completed thus far. Have you seen my other paintings? I really should show you those, too, sometime.”

Noctis is by his side in an instant, gripping the sleeves and sides of the furisode into two great clumps of fabric. “Run, Master Ignis! He’s going to talk art at you!”

They both start cackling. Out of the corner of his eye, Ignis thinks he sees Ardyn eyeing them both with an expression—hateful, predatory—that makes him shiver. When he turns to confirm it, however, Ardyn is nothing but exasperated smirks and eyerolls. “Noct, stop wrinkling my kimono and go change for tea. Ignis, walk with me, if you would?”

“Umm, okay.” Ignis glances over his shoulder, sees Noctis slip out of the furisode and, clad only in boxer briefs, pluck his pants from some hidden corner behind the chaise. _I haven’t seen him in his underwear before,_ he thinks. _Noctis never lets me see him this undressed—_

“Dear boy,” Ardyn says, hooking his arm around Ignis’s shoulder and guiding him out of the studio, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you privately. You know, out of earshot of my nephew. How are you two getting along, anyway?”

“Oh, just fine. He’s been a good friend, especially recently.”

His expression darkens, voice dropping to a whisper. “Ignis, please don’t feel like you have to lie just to please me. I know how difficult he is. You can be honest, I promise.”

“But…I _am_ being honest!” Ignis stops. _Wait, what is he insinuating?_ Before he can stop himself, the words start pouring out of him. “Are you saying that I’m pretending? Is that what you think? That I’m just faking? That I’m using him? I wouldn’t do that! I care about Noctis! I would _never_ hurt him! Not like that, not like everyone else—”

“Ignis, Ignis!” Ardyn raises his hands, interrupting. “It’s all right, calm down! I didn’t mean it like that. I just needed to know if you really meant it. Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the table, already set for their usual tea, and busies himself in the kitchen as he talks. “As you know, I’ve been asking Noctis to move in because I miss having him around, but he’s refused because of you. Still, I needed to confirm that you enjoy living with him before suggesting this compromise: what if you both moved in? That way, I get my nephew, and he can keep his dear friend by his side?”

“We can’t do that! The Student Council—”

“—cannot override the Chairman. Noctis mentioned that already.”

“But we’d be crowding your space!”

“Have you looked around? This penthouse is far too large for a single person. You two would have an entire unoccupied _wing_ to yourself!”

“Noctis mentioned a fiancée, though. What will she think?”

“Ahh, yes, my beloved Aera. When she returns, she’ll be living in my wing, of course. Besides, she wouldn’t dream of keeping me from my nephew, knowing how important family is to me. Family’s important to her, too.”

Ignis frowns. “I don’t know, Ardyn. This seems very sudden.”

“Nonsense! I’ve been thinking about this for days!”

Noctis rounds the blind spot of the planetarium and says, “Thinking about what for days?”

“Ahh, Noct, there you are! We were just discussing you and Ignis moving here.”

“Are you messing up my kitchen, Uncle? Out! Let me handle the rest of the tea preparations! Shoo, shoo!” He grabs a towel and swings it at Ardyn’s shoulder.

“I surrender!” Ardyn throws his hands in the air and retreats to the table.

“As for your offer,” Noctis says as he takes over in the kitchen, “it’s a compromise I’m okay with, if Master Ignis is.”

Ignis hums thoughtfully for a moment before he smiles and says, “Oh, who am I to keep you from your family?”

“Excellent! Let’s make arrangements to have you two move in this weekend.” Ardyn claps once and lowers his hand over Ignis’s, stroking it with his thumb. “Don’t you agree, sweet Ignis? Best to finish these things quickly so they don’t interfere with your schoolwork.”

“I—umm, yes, I agree.”

The kettle whistles.

“Tea will be ready shortly,” Noctis says. “And Master Ignis, please let me know what you think of these cookies I baked to go with today’s blend!”

Ignis pulls his hand back. “Of course.” _Oh,_ he thinks, _but what is this feeling? Why does Ardyn remind me of my beloved? And what terrible decision have I just made?_

* * *

_If there is anything I can count on,_ Ravus thinks as he reclines on a couch, staring at the ceiling while tailors twitter around Luna like sparrows, _it’s Gladio being predictable. He’s going to dress Scientia in midnight blue._ Then again, he can also bank on Scientia making the right adjustments with accessories, so in the end, it doesn’t really matter what stuffy old thing Gladio sends him.

Caelum, however, is a trickier model to clothe. Aware of his sexual power but always downplaying it. Far more muscular than one would guess. _Come to think of it, I never see him exercise. How does he maintain it?_ Generally conservative in terms of dress, but not unaware of—or even incapable of wearing—more unconventional fashions. _Ahh, he will defer to Scientia for the finer details, but I can’t resist cream over white to contrast that moonlit skin—_

“Are you even paying attention?” Luna says.

“No.” He doesn’t even look at her. When she glares and plants hands on hips, he shrugs and adds with a vague wave, “Did you want me to lie?”

“Really, Ravus!” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone, go. I’ll call you back when I’m ready.”

The tailors file out silently as she meanders toward Ravus. “I was asking what you think of this dress. I’m beginning to think it might be too dramatic, even for the May Dance, but I was hoping to get your opinion.”

Ravus sits up, turns, and feels his breath hitch. It’s been ages since he’s seen a classic bustled gown— _have I ever seen one outside of a museum or a film?_ —and he’d never imagined how Luna might look in one. How sapphire satins could sweep and gather, smooth over seams and boning, to sculpt her even more stunning. But here he is, staring at the line of buttons tracing his sister’s spine, and admiring the museum-quality reproduction only a family like theirs could afford.

“I definitely did not expect to feel so restricted,” she says, running her fingers up and down her exaggerated waist, “even though I know I have much more freedom of movement than it looks.”

“Well, it’s going to be an active night. Don’t wear anything that’s going to make it difficult for you to work.”

“Is that your opinion, that I shouldn’t wear this?”

“I didn’t say that.” Ravus stands and takes her by the hand. “Is it so wrong for an older brother to worry about his baby sister?”

Luna’s expression softens. “Tell me, Ravus. What _do_ you think of the dress?”

“It’s exquisite.” He pulls her closer, slides his hand around her waist, leads her into a slow, tuneless waltz. “No one will be wearing anything like it. An unmatched statement of power, originality, and beauty.”

She smirks and follows his lead. “I’m trying to decide if I should have the neckline lowered and lose the sleeves.”

“The drama of the neckline only works if you keep the sleeves,” he says, dropping her into a deep dip and locking her in place with his leg. “There must be contrast.”

“What if,” she says, inhaling sharply, “I just lowered the neckline?”

Ravus stares at the way her breasts heave against the gown’s bodice and the corset beneath. “Do you want me to be nice or honest?”

“What does that mean?” She begins to tremble, the position straining her to her core.

“A nice man would say no.” He unhooks his leg, gently lifts her out of the dip, and pulls her flush to his chest. His eyes fix on her cleavage as he says, “An honest man would ask how much lower you’re willing to go before you’d risk constantly distracting everyone with your nipples.”

Luna twists out of his grip and slaps him across the cheek. “Honestly, if you’re going to be constantly distracted, you’re worthless to me.”

“Don’t be short-sighted, Lunafreya. You haven’t even realized the opportunity you have.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Use your influence on the May Dance committees to ensure Caelum is one of the May King nominees.”

Her expression turns thoughtful as she paces. After a few moments, she says, “No, that _is_ good. Noctis can’t come without Ignis, and Ignis would neither come alone nor deny Noctis the opportunity to participate.”

“Exactly.” _Ah, it’s so much easier working with her than Gladio; I don’t have to explain myself every fifteen words._ “The Student Council would have them right at hand for observation, and of course, this will further ingratiate you toward the Bridegroom, making it easier for you to question him.”

“You, dear brother, are a genius.”

Ravus returns to the couch, practically draping himself over it as he says, “You see? Just because I _appear_ ‘constantly distracted’ doesn’t mean I’m actually idle. It’s all an illusion.”

Luna walks over and, with flat palm and tranquil face, lifts his chin with her fingertips. Ravus imagines she must look like a goddess studying the face of a tribute. “Are you looking for a reward?”

“Are you in a mind to grant one?”

She strokes cool fingers across the red mark made by the same hand moments before, gazing down at him with a half-smirk like a crooked rosebud. In that moment, he knows her answer. He knows that she never found his weakness repulsive in and of itself—merely repulsive because it was exploitable.

_And oh, how she exploits._

“No,” she says. “No, I’m really not.”

_I wish I could hate her, but I just love her more—love the ruthlessness we share._

“I’d like you to leave now, please. Would you send the tailors back? I want them to take some measurements for the alterations.”

 _I can’t hate her, but I can be angry._ “Certainly,” he says through clenched teeth.

“And Ravus? Be a dear and choose something period-appropriate to match me since you’ll be on my arm most of the night.”

 _Oh, I’ll choose something period-appropriate all right._ “Of course.”

* * *

Prompto feels like an ass as he knocks on the door to the Chairman’s penthouse by kicking it. “I’m sorry, Chairman Izunia!” he shouts. “I’m a friend of Iggy’s, but my hands are full and I—”

A voice on the other side says, “Apologies, I should have left it ajar. One moment.”

The door slides open to reveal Ardyn, dressed down in an open-neck linen shirt and lounge pants. He leans forward and smiles as he says, “Ahh, you must be Prompto. It seems my nephew was right. You really do have the most bewitching eyes. Come in, please.”

“Oh! Umm, thanks.” Prompto blushes all the way to his ears as he wanders in.

“You’ll want to take the open door to your right just past the kitchen area. I think Noct is vacuuming, so speak loudly to get their attention. And whatever you do, please call me Ardyn.” He presses a hand to the hollow between Prompto’s shoulder blades and gives him a light shove. “Now, off with you!”

“Thanks, Ardyn!”

Despite the noise, Noctis is the first to notice Prompto bound into their room. He switches off the vacuum and props it against the wall. “Master Ignis, Prompto has arrived with our last box.”

“Ta-daaah! Here to help!”

Ignis pokes his head out of a closet. “Hey, you made it! Oh, let me get that from you.” He rushes over, takes the box from Prompto’s arms, and sets it on a nearby wall-mounted table next to a vase of roses. “I’m just going to unpack this real quick. Feel free to look around.”

Prompto wanders from one side of the space to the other. Both Ignis and Noctis have already laid claim to their respective sides. Each one has its own walk-in closet, private bathroom, and vanity area, as well as extensive shelving, wall-mounted tables, and desks. Framed photography and paintings adorn the walls, and a large vase of roses sits on the table near the door where Ignis unpacks and sorts their final box.

“Holy shit, dude,” he says, “this place is so cool! And look how huge it is! Way better than the room you were in before.”

“It feels a little _too_ big, if I’m honest.” Ignis frowns at the way his voice echoes. “Like it’s totally empty.”

“That’s because the rest of our furniture isn’t here yet, Master Ignis,” Noctis says. “Uncle Ardyn said it should be delivered after tea. It’ll feel a lot more like a room once we have our beds and whatnot.”

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto says, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in anything besides your school uniform.”

“I believe,” Noctis says with a laugh, “you’re right.” He unties the cloth protecting his hair—white and gold, with a rose pattern like the academy’s crest—and drapes it around his neck like a scarf. “Well, how do I look?”

“Not quite as cute as my girlfriend, but pretty close. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Ignis folds his arms. “I can’t believe how much more shameless you’ve gotten. Is it the influence of all those degenerates in the Photography Club?”

“Speaking of…” Prompto holds out an envelope to Noctis. “That’s for you, bro. Threw in a little something extra, too.”

“Wait, is that what I think it is?” Ignis puts down the book he’s holding and tries to snatch the envelope away, but Noctis is there before he can even get a finger on it.

“Thanks!” Noctis says as he tucks it into his apron pocket and starts moving toward the kitchen. “By the way, tea should be ready in a few minutes. Be right back!”

Once Noctis is out of the room, Prompto makes his way over to a floor-to-ceiling window on the back wall. He fidgets with the blinds, pulling them open with a finger and peeking out at the sweeping view of the entire campus. “I gotta hand it to you, Iggy,” he says, his eyes and smile wide, “you are just about the luckiest guy in the world.”

Ignis props himself against a wall and stretches. He feels a deep nervousness he hasn’t been able to shake ever since the move began, and Prompto’s words somehow make it worse. Like he should be grateful instead of on the verge of panic. “I don’t know about that. I mean, it’s a really nice room and all, but—”

“I’m not talking about the room! Well, not _just_ the room.”

Genuine curiosity displaces nerves for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Nice friend, super-cute girlfriend…” Prompto dodges a swat. “Kickass room, and that _incredible hotness_ to look at every day.”

“Incredible hotness?”

“Are you _blind_? I mean Chairman Izunia!” He punctuates his dramatic sigh with a sweeping hand to the forehead. “Oh, how can I compare? Whatever will I do with such a man living under the same room as my sweet, innocent Iggy? Why, I’m positively sick with jealousy just imagining the romantic possibilities! It’s the kind of thing people write novels about!”

“What are you even going on about?” Ignis grabs Prompto by the wrist and uses the blond’s own hand to bop him on the forehead. “Besides, Ardyn has a fiancée. No romantic possibilities there.”

“Dude, are you for real? Oh man, why are all the gorgeous ones always taken?”

“What was that,” Ardyn says, stepping into the room, “about the gorgeous ones being taken?”

Prompto jumps, blushing. “Oh, umm, Chairm—I mean, Ardyn! We were just—”

A small chuckle shakes Ardyn’s shoulders. “No need for all that, Prompto! I was just coming to inform you that Noct has tea ready, and I’d be honored if you both would join us.”

“Sure!” Prompto practically skips from the room to the table and plops down in the chair next to Noctis. They whip out their phones almost instantly, ready to discuss the latest game they’re playing together.

Ignis hangs back for a moment, smiling and shaking his head. “Please don’t mind him, Ardyn. I know he seems like a loudmouth, but he’s really very kind and brilliant.”

“Oh, I know all about Mr. Argentum’s boundless energy.” When Ignis’s face twists with confusion, Ardyn’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Really, Ignis, I _am_ the Chairman, and I have access to everyone’s records. Did you really think I wouldn’t take a peek?”

“Wait, what?”

“Honestly, I can’t believe it never occurred to you that I would have you checked out, that I would ever trust my nephew— _my only remaining family_ —to unknown people.”

“I…”

“My point is,” Ardyn says with a small wave of his hand, “I don’t mind Prompto at all. He’s refreshing, really. And just look how good he and Noct are, how they energize one another. I haven’t seen anything like it in ages.” He rests that hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “You continue to be such a good influence on my nephew. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh!” Ignis twitches a little at the praise but settles easily under the soothing weight of Ardyn’s hand. “Umm, well, you’re welcome. It’s no big deal, really. Noctis is very special.”

He watches his two friends compare gacha draws and discuss character evolutions for a moment before ducking out of the Chairman’s touch and taking a step toward the table. “We should probably join them, shouldn’t we?”

Ardyn sighs. “It’s true what he said, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“About all the gorgeous ones being taken? I mean, Prompto has you, doesn’t he?”

Ignis stops, turns around. _Is he…hitting on me?_ “Did Noctis tell you that?”

“He did. Why?”

With a huff, he yanks his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “I really need to have a conversation with both of them.”

“Have I missed something?”

Ignis puts his glasses back on and glances over at the table. “If you’ve looked into our backgrounds, then you already know how far back Prompto and I go. How we met in the system before the Argentums adopted him and my uncle took me in.”

“Right.”

“The whole ‘girlfriend’ thing started back then because the bullies said I was too pretty for a boy. He took care of me, though, and when they called him my ‘boyfriend’ for defending me, he said that was okay because I was cooler than they were.”

“That’s quite sweet.”

“We’ve kind of just kept it going as a joke ever since, but it seems Prompto’s actually convinced Noctis we’re dating, and…” Ignis trails off and sighs. “Prompto means the world to me, but it’s not like that between us.”

“I see.” Ardyn’s smile is warm, teeth bright in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “I apologize if I upset you.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—I don’t want Noctis to be confused.”

“Of course.” He places a hand on Ignis’s back and gently pushes him toward the table. “Well, let’s not dawdle any more. There’s tea to be had, isn’t there?”

* * *

The beds remind Ignis of a circle sliced in half, offset and sliding apart. Each mattress rests in one half— _how will we make them?_ he wonders absently—and is set head-to-head. The side rails alongside the two heads connect, forming a flat surface between the mattresses. Ignis realizes the implication: they’re supposed to face sleeping one another, and that surface between is designed to facilitate touch between them. It’s incredibly intimate and makes him tense just looking at it.

“Please don’t be mad,” Noctis says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Uncle Ardyn picked it out. He said it’s the latest in sleep technology, very innovative and stylish.”

“It’s _some_ kind of style, all right.”

Noctis snickers.

“I know if I ask you what your preference is, you’ll defer to me, so let me guess—you want the one closest to the window, right?” Ignis asks.

“Why do you think it’s that one?”

“I figured you might like to stargaze from bed when you can’t sleep.”

“As you say.” The Bridegroom smiles and climbs into the bed closest to the window. Ignis, meanwhile, chooses the one closer to the door.

They spend a few moments in the quiet dark, before Noctis breaks the silence. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I did really want this spot. It was a good guess.”

“Maybe I’m getting better at understanding you.”

“I think you understand me more than you realize, Master Ignis. There are times you seem so familiar to me, I wonder if we’ve met before.”

Ignis turns to look at Noctis’s moonlit face. He’s never appeared more fragile, hair down and framing him in soft, dark waves. “It isn’t like you to say stuff like that.” _And have I ever seen you with your hair down before?_ he almost says but doesn’t.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s not that at all. I’m glad you’re starting to feel like it’s safe to open up to me.” Ignis smiles and, despite his misgivings, reaches his hand out across that strange space between the two bedheads. “Hey, if you ever have a problem, come to me first, okay? Friends should help each other out, no matter what. I want us to be the kind of friends who support one another through anything and everything.”

Noctis takes his hand and strokes Ignis’s forearm with a finger. “Master Ignis, actually, the truth is—” His eyes glisten, breath quickens.

“What is it?”

He takes a deep, steadying breath and blinks away his tears. “…never mind.”

The blue in his irises sparkles with starlight until it disappears behind eyelids as Noctis finally falls asleep, never letting go of Ignis’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took eight chapters, but Prompto finally got those pictures of Ignis in a miniskirt and thigh-high boots to Noctis. Ignis _really_ doesn't want anyone to have them.
> 
> Chapter 8's cursed content: once [someone points out that the bed looks like a 69](https://twitter.com/vestenet/status/1061494009728778242), you'll never unsee it.


	9. duel 09 :: thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the suits arrive. noctis refuses to attend. ignis intervenes. ardyn takes a call and a visitor. an interlude with end of night.

_we who do not take example have all  
cast ourselves aside to become fallen angels_  
—J.A. Seazer, “We Who Have Cast Ourselves Aside Become Fallen Angels” (trans. Verthandi)  
  
  
  


Ardyn carries in two long boxes and places them on the table where Noctis and Ignis are spread out with their homework. “It seems,” he says, “that my new roommates are quite popular, as they both received gifts today. Noctis, yours is the white one. Ignis, the red.”

Noctis opens the white box. Inside is an ivory dinner jacket with shawl lapels, black tuxedo trousers trimmed with satin, a case packed with all the appropriate accessories, and an envelope. He slips a finger under the flap, removes the card, and reads it aloud: “‘Dearest Noctis, it is with a warm heart that I announce your nomination for King of this year’s May Dance and send this for you to wear that evening. I pray it reflects a fraction of the light I see in you every day. With affection, your Luna.’”

“Why, Noct,” Ardyn says with a delighted grin, “you didn’t tell me about you and Lunafreya! She’s a lovely young woman from a good family. The Caelums would be pleased.” Seeing Noctis scratch the back of his neck and glance away, he elbows his nephew and adds, “Well, at least you’ll look like a gentleman for once. What about yours, Ignis?”

Ignis lifts the lid off his red box and wrinkles his nose. “What in blazes is this?”

“Oh my,” Ardyn says. “Midnight blue? Peak lapels? A double-breasted waistcoat? _Faille_? Whoever sent you that is quite the traditionalist.”

All that’s written on the enclosed card is a single sentence and a name:

> _Looking forward to seeing you wear this for me._
> 
> _Gladio_

Noctis notices the horrified look on Ignis’s face and says, “Didn’t you mean, ‘what in _blazers_ ,’ Master Ignis?”

But Ignis doesn’t even acknowledge the pun. All he can do is sputter. “O-of all the—who d-d-does he think—I don’t wear _anything_ for _anyone_ but myself! So, Mister Playboy President can _forget_ it. If he thinks he’ll buy me with antiques, he’ll just have to find another date. I wouldn’t go in that if my life depended on it.” Ignis shoves the box across the table, sending it and their assignments flying. He almost feels bad treating such fine fabric so poorly. _Almost_. Gladio can afford it.

“In that case,” Noctis says, delicately replacing the lid on his box, “I won’t go either.”

Ardyn folds his arms. “Noct, you’re nominated for May King, and Lunafreya has gone through a lot of trouble on your account. Don’t be so rude.”

“If Master Ignis isn’t going, I’m not going.” He shrugs. “I’ll explain myself to Luna later.”

“Ardyn, may I speak to you for a moment?” Ignis leads Ardyn into the kitchen, pitches his voice low. “Listen, do you mind disappearing for a few minutes? Let me talk to Noctis alone, see if I can convince him.”

“Of course, sweet one, of course! I’ll just head back to my study. Just do me a favor, would you? If whatever’s troubling him isn’t too embarrassing—or if he doesn’t swear you to secrecy—can you report back to me later on? I understand a young man needs his privacy, but he’s family. You know how I worry.”

“Certainly.”

Ardyn strokes Ignis’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, presses a thumb against the younger man’s bottom lip, and drags it down to rest lightly against his chin. “ _Darling_. What would I do without you?”

Ignis shivers at the touch. _Gods, he’s going to kiss me, isn’t he?_ His eyes flutter closed in anticipation.

But Ardyn removes his hand and says, “Go now, find out what the problem is.”

“O-oh, okay.” Ignis half-scampers to the main dining area.

Noctis is picking up clothes, putting the packages back together—deft fingers returning each crease and fold to cloth. Their homework is already back on the table. “I’ll make sure these are returned today. Should I include notes detailing our regrets, or do you think we should speak to our respective gift-givers in person?”

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“It’s not a matter of want. According to the Code, the Bridegroom can’t appear without his Champion at an event like this.”

“There are rules for _balls_?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not just balls but any event where I’ll be in the company of many Duelists. The Code says my Champion must escort me to protect my body from potential compromise.”

“‘Potential compromise’? Are you kidding?” Ignis stares for a moment before rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “Do you actually believe that you, of all people, need your chastity safeguarded?”

Noctis gives Ignis a wounded look. “It’s not a matter of my _chastity_ , as you so crudely put it, Master Ignis.”

“I-I-I didn’t mean it that way, honest.”

“As you say.” But the flatness in his tone tells Ignis that it is most definitely _not_ as he says.

 _Oh gods,_ he thinks, _I’ve really hurt him._ “I’m sorry, Noctis—really! It was cruel of me to say such a thing.”

The Bridegroom folds his arms and stares with icy intensity. “Have you ever seen what despair will drive people to do? Because I have, and a desperate Duelist is capable of just about anything. I could be killed, kidnapped, _spirited away_ —”

Ignis winces, Noctis’s words fading into the hiss of distant rain punctuated by occasional thunder—

> _Faintly, the boy hears one of the men say, “What if he was spirited away?”_
> 
> _“Before we worry about that,” another man—_ my uncle, _the boy thinks—says, “let’s check that hill right over there.”_
> 
> _The adult voices fade as they move further from the church, from him._
> 
> _But then he hears a stranger’s voice. A boy, like him. “‘Spirited away,’ ridiculous.”_
> 
> _Footsteps—two sets, not one—coming closer._
> 
> _The boy parts his lips to say, “Don’t open it, please,” but the words won’t leave his mouth. Instead, they groan around a church door, form the sound of creaking wood._

“—and I won’t go without you beside me.”

 _I need to fix this now_ , Ignis thinks, _before I ruin things between us._ “Let me ask you something,” he asks, his voice quiet. “Do you like Lunafreya? Is she your friend?”

The Bridegroom’s face goes from cold to confused instantly. “I-I’m not sure I understand.”

“Would you say that Lunafreya is one of the people you’d call a friend?”

“I…suppose.” He removes the white rose from behind his ear, strokes the edges of its petals with his fingertips. “I mean, yeah. I’d call Miss Luna a friend.”

“You know Ardyn and I have been encouraging you to make more friends, right? To be more social?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you ought to go. The May Dance is one of the biggest social events of the year, and since Lunafreya’s nominated you for May King and sent a suit for you to wear, it would be foolish of you to skip.”

“It’s just…it seems a little overwhelming, if I’m honest. All those people. Sometimes, when I look at a crowd, all I see is a faceless horde…and they have weapons…and they want…” His voice is smaller than Ignis has ever heard it. “It’s one of my nightmares. Have I told you that?”

“No.”

Noctis lowers his gaze. “I meant to. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry.” Ignis places a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know if you go, you’ll win. You’re funny and kind and _wonderful_ , and everyone I know who’s met you thinks so. And you don’t have to be scared—” Ignis takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. “—because I’m coming with you as your escort. I’ll protect you.”

“But you just said you wouldn’t go if your life depended on it.”

Ignis takes the rose out of Noctis’s hands, and slides it in place behind his ear. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing my life doesn’t, now does it?”

“Master Ignis, this is too much,” he says with a small chuckle. “I’m supposed to be the one serving _you_.”

“Look, it’s the least I can do to be supportive, considering all you’ve done for me. And besides,” he adds with a smile and a brush of flyaway bang, “you are going to look _amazing_ in black tie.”

* * *

Ardyn’s on the phone when Ignis enters his study.

“Hang on a moment, my love,” he says before flattening a hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Aera, but we’re wrapping up. If you don’t mind waiting—”

“Not at all.” Ignis sits down in a red leather club chair in front of the massive mahogany desk.

“Sorry about that,” Ardyn says into the phone. “Do go on, dearest.” He ducks under his desk and rises a moment later with a can of Ebony, which he places on the blotter.

“For you,” he mouths silently.

Ignis smiles and cracks open the Ebony. As he waits, he busies himself by studying Ardyn’s office décor. Most of it appears to be framed newspaper clippings, art show posters, and photographs with famous and important people. Ignis doesn’t recognize most of them, though the one man he does—Iedolas Aldercapt, Emperor of Niflheim—throws him for a loop. _How did he get an audience with the Emperor? Wait, when was that even taken? Didn’t Aldercapt die—_

“Sorry about that. It’s rare that Aera gets access to a phone, so whenever she calls, I have a tendency to drop everything to talk to her.”

“Oh, of course! It’s no problem at all. I was just looking at all the memorabilia on your walls. You’ve been all over the world and met just about everyone, haven’t you? Can I ask how you met—”

“They were terribly boring, I’m sure,” Ardyn says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Never mind that. Why don’t you come over to my side and take a look at what _really_ matters?”

“Umm, okay.” He gets up from the chair and circles around the desk to the Chairman’s side. Once there, he follows the line formed by Ardyn’s arm and finger to a cluster of paintings mounted on the wall above the door. Ignis gasps. “Wait, is that—”

“Yes. That, darling, is the collection that made my career: the _Royal Arms_ series. One painting for each of the thirteen known ancestral weapons of the Lucian monarchy. A hyperrealist study of our masculine fantasies of kings and conquest.”

Try as he might, Ignis can’t help but stare at _Sword of the Father_. Ardyn is the primary subject, dressed in royal raiment of black and gold. His body is as much drapery as his detached cape and pauldrons—hooked over the ear of the throne and spilling down the back and arms in thick waves of fabric. Despite his near-precarious lean against the Sword of the Father, everything else about his body’s positioning screams sex. Half-lidded eyes seem to beg for the viewer to bite the lips he licks, kiss the throat he bares, reach down his open trousers and stroke the hard-on he grasps.

“I see you’re quite taken with _Sword of the Father_. That one’s my favorite. Well, don’t just stand there.” Ardyn leans in closer, curling his fingers around Ignis’s upper arms, and drops his voice. “Tell me how it makes you feel.”

“I…don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he says, words barely a whisper against the younger man’s neck.

Ignis squirms. “Uncomfortable.”

“That’s fair.” Ardyn chuckles and releases his grip, backing off. “It’s supposed to make you uncomfortable and force you to question what a king is, what a man is. Among other things, of course. When that painting premiered, it cemented my reputation but was also quite the scandal. My critics called me all sorts of spiteful things. The one I hated most, though, was ‘revisionist.’ I dared them to find a more accurate representation of a Lucian king than _Sword of the Father_. They never did, because one doesn’t exist. One never will exist. It’s perfect.”

“I can’t say I know much about the Lucians other than what Noctis has told me.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t—or that he hasn’t talked your ear off about them yet, considering he knows almost as much as I do.”

“You’re a Caelum, too?”

“Don’t go spreading it around now!” Ardyn says with mock horror. “The truth is, I took the name ‘Izunia’ years ago because the family couldn’t stand the idea of having a starving artist in the line. Can you imagine how furious they were when I succeeded? And with _these_ paintings, to boot? They begged me to sell them, settle down, start a family, and become respectable. Oh, I pretended to entertain offers. Very _lucrative_ offers, too. But no one will ever separate me from _Royal Arms_. They’re my real family. They’re all I have. And I will _never_ be respectable.”

Ignis is silent, recognizing that he’s witnessed a moment of vulnerability in Ardyn. This peacock of a man, a veritable vortex of fabric and swagger—lowering his defenses for the briefest of moments. _Beneath it all, he’s just like everyone else, longing for someone to love him as he truly is._

“Whatever nonsense the Caelums might have tried to impose is moot,” he adds after a few quiet moments, “seeing as how Noct and I are the only ones left. But you probably understand us better than most.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come now. You’re clearly not the type to let others impose their ideals on you. By the way, I’ve noticed your customizations are quite skull-heavy. Any reason why?”

“I like them, and they’re a nice memento mori, don’t you think?”

“It’s unusual to meet someone your age who’s so comfortable with death. That’s why I was shocked you didn’t know more about the Lucians. The skull was part of the Lucian emblem.”

“I had no idea. It’s just…well, I avoided death once, and it’s important that I don’t forget both how lost I felt at first and how driven I felt later.”

“What an intriguing transformation. You simply _must_ tell me about it sometime.” Ardyn bends forward, his mouth drifting dangerously close to Ignis’s. “But you came to talk to me about Noct. How is he?”

Ignis takes a couple of steps back and swallows, licking his lips absently. “He’s fine. I convinced him to go, actually.”

“Marvelous! Do you know what the problem was?”

“He just didn’t feel safe going without a companion he felt comfortable with.” It occurs to Ignis how easy the lie comes, perhaps in part because it isn’t too far removed from the truth. But as much as he hates lying, he knows it’s far better to protect Noctis than tell the truth. “Honestly, I understand his fear—it’s a big event, and he’d be adrift in a sea of strange faces. I think that would be so overwhelming, he couldn’t enjoy himself. He takes so much comfort in the familiar.”

“Of course. How silly of me not to think of it.” Suddenly, the Chairman begins pacing his study. “One thing the Caelums drilled into our heads was that we could trace Insomnia’s history through genealogy. For example, did you know the Scientias were once known in the Old Tongue as the _nordwahr_ —the northtrue—for they were loyal advisers and servants to the _südhell_ —the southbright—Lucians?”

“I don’t…” _You’re about to say you don’t know,_ Ignis says to himself, _but is that actually true?_ Because he could swear he knows _something_ about it.

> _Ignis can almost sense Noctis’s eyes—blueblack in the low light—on him. “You’re keeping some very deep secrets, Master Ignis. Some so deep, you don’t even know you’re keeping them.”_

“…think anyone in my family ever told me.”

“Many of the academy’s top students come from dynastic lines, like the Amicitias, or from families that gained their surnames in royal service, like the Highwinds. But I didn’t bring that up to discuss the lineage of the student body.” Ardyn stops pacing. Sighing, his shoulders slump. “My point is, I must confess to a little envy. I can only imagine the turns my life’s road might have taken had I been blessed with my own _nordwahr_. Noct is very lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Ardyn. I’m very lucky to have him, too,” he says, feeling the words warm his cheeks and soften his lips into a smile before he even realizes he’s spoken them.

* * *

Tonight, End of Night speeds his car into a night so dark, it might as well be starless. The only light comes from his headlights, the Vixen’s instrument panel, and the warnings painted on the road in reflective paint. He doesn’t care what they say, even though he’s known for as long as there have been words. Humans and their feeble _restraints_ have always tried to tie him down.

Tonight, End of Night drives further, faster than he does when he brings Gladio and Ravus. They may be his willing disciples, but there are secrets deep in the night— _greater mysteries_ —that they simply aren’t ready for.

There was a time, long before there was a Night to have an End to, that initiates would commit a year and a day to the _dornbindend_ , the thornbinding. In that time, the _flower_ would learn focus, observation, and humility from their _thorn_ or be shut out from the greater mysteries forever. Such was the sacred ordeal of service.

End of Night had pledged in his teens, long ago, before he became a king. Indeed, it was part of what made him a king. All true nobility know the path of sovereignty is made by the feet of the ruled. _But to rule,_ he thinks, _one must first follow in service._

Still, merely completing the ordeal didn’t guarantee access to the greater mysteries; one had to be recommended for final initiation. One could also request an additional year and a day of the _dornbindend_ , become one of the clergy serving the uninitiated, or leave the mysteries entirely. There was no shame in any decision, for all were honorable paths.

He smiles, remembering that his thorn had endorsed him long before his ordeal’s completion. It had been expected, after all—beloved as he’d been for both his beauty and his magic—and once he overcame his early misgivings, he did not disappoint the flower of a woman to whom he’d been bound.

To this day, though, End of Night remembers the sting of her crop, how she’d use it to accentuate each syllable of her favorite critique: _If you are so unobservant that you cannot see I need my pipe lit, how can you ever hope to see the Godsigns?_

He thinks back on it fondly, how the leather licked his skin open. How her tongue licked the vowels of the Old Tongue, then licked the cries from his mouth. It’s been a while since he’s performed it on another’s skin, though tonight is the wrong time for a reenactment.

Could Gladio survive the sacred ordeal of service? Could Ravus? Both were so prideful, and proud men often found it difficult. Then again, that was the point of ordeal work, wasn’t it—to lose the ego to the trial, force one further from the self and closer to the Gods? He finds it hard to imagine either of them emptying themselves far enough to become vessels.

Even as a child, Gladiolus Amicitia would have had power, and men like that were near impossible to drain. End of Night doubts there was ever a time Gladio had not been filled to the brim with assurances. _Ravus, perhaps,_ he thinks, _but I would have needed to find him much, much earlier._ How young had the platinum-haired Vice President been when he mastered the art of the lie? If End of Night had been there, he would have ensured the gods hollowed Ravus Nox Fleuret to the marrow.

It had been ages since he’s allowed himself to be hollowed. To feel the full emptiness. To fall from the body. Certainly he keeps a sliver of the void inside him and suffers— _no one suffers as I do,_ he thinks, _not even the Bridegroom_ —but he always maintains his sense of self.

_I have nothing to prove anymore._

_No one will take who I am away from me._

_Not the Bridegroom. Not Somnus. Not even the Gods._

Tonight, End of Night rages, his screams muting the screech of his tires as he turns, skids, drifts through impossible curves. The Champion, Ignis, blind to his devotion to the Bridegroom. Blind to the Bridegroom’s devotion to him. Blind to it all, yet he wins and he wins and he loves and is loved.

_He would have been the type to beg for another year and day, swearing he hadn’t learned a thing, all while the Gods peppered his upraised arms with kisses._

Such naïveté.

Experience has taught End of Night that there are only two ways to deal with charismatic innocents in one’s way: they must be redirected or crushed, else they attract too many others to their cause. It’s already begun, despite his obliviousness.

The blessing of staying whole—of refusing to be a vessel for the gods anymore—is that he remembers what others have been forced to forget.

As he throws the Vixen into another mad handbrake turn around his least favorite words of restraint—

 **|  
****|  
****|  
** **|  
T H E E N D**

—he snarls and plans the unmaking of Ignis Scientia.

Tonight, End of Night returns home, still angry, and summons the Bridegroom. He takes his time sliding steel claws onto his fingertips, and when he’s done, he holds his left hand aloft in a mock blessing. “I’d like to make you bleed tonight,” he says.

The Bridegroom nods but does not speak.

“Strip.”

The Bridegroom strips.

“Now, try to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to wake your treasured friend, would we, Noct?”

And though he trembles and sweats with the effort, the Bridegroom never lets a sound pass his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The terms "nordwahr" (northtrue) and "südhell" (southbright) are from Paul Celan's poem "Harnischstriemen, Faltenachsen," ("Slickensides, fold-axes,") in _Atemwende_ ( _Breathturn_ ). I prefer the Joris translation but have the Hamburger, too.
> 
> The "dornbindend" (thornbinding) is my invention but based on certain BDSM practices, pagan initiation rites, and ordeal workings. 
> 
> No cursed content this time; I think we've had enough darkness.


	10. duel 10 :: dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things do not go according to ravus's plans. ignis and gladio meet. iris chooses noctis as her partner. panic. relief. aranea recalls a moment as champion.

_there are two of me alone in the world_  
—J.A. Seazer, “The Angel Androgynous” (trans. EJ)  
  
  
  


Gladio surveys the room from the balcony, lounging on his favorite chaise like a wildcat curled in a treetop. It amuses him to watch the Insomnia Academy elite flit about below him. Little moths and jeweled butterflies occasionally worth extending a hand to, worth letting them light on him before he shoos them away. He collects them, one could say. Or perhaps, more accurately, he’s a connoisseur of the way their legs wrap around him—once in some cases, more often in others.

 _Because some are simply more interesting,_ he thinks, his eyes coming to rest on Ravus.

The two of them have always been a match in most things, and where the one falters, the other excels. It amuses him to think of Ravus as his mirror self, especially now that Gladio has initiated him into End of Night’s mysteries. Still, Gladio cannot shake the feeling that Ravus has a mystery of his own swirling inside those stormy eyes, behind that insistent tongue.

Sometimes, when they are alone and Ravus buries his teeth into the meat of Gladio’s shoulder— _must he always bite?_ —and draws blood, Gladio gets the feeling that Ravus is trying desperately to drown those secrets in iron and copper. He knows Ravus claims he doesn’t trust anyone, but he has to trust Gladio at least a little, or he wouldn’t keep coming back. Wouldn’t keep searching for whatever answers he finds with his mouth and cock.

Tonight, though, Ravus’s obsessive attentions are focused on his sister. Lunafreya is, as expected, a vision, holding court among classmates, club associates, and committee members in her sapphire bustle gown. It’s a gesture Gladio can appreciate, even as it annoys him to see her seize so much power and attention in his own home.

Meanwhile, Ravus, in perhaps his most editorial ensemble ever, escorts her in a silver-grey and blue couture suit. In lieu of a matching waistcoat, however, he’s opted for an asymmetrical, avant-garde corset in silver brocade. Its surface is embroidered with crimson beads in a non-pattern that evokes blood splatters, somehow making the garment look at once like chainmail armor and a butcher’s apron. His shoulders draped in a fur-trimmed pewter and black cloak, he holds his sister’s arm with absolute delicacy.

 _A model brother._ Gladio feels his lips curl into a sneer watching Ravus act with all warm smiles and deference. It disgusts him to see his dark half reduced to this—though at least he got a word in edgewise, sartorially speaking.

Suddenly, hands cover his eyes. “Guess who?” Iris says.

“Cut it out,” Gladio says with a chuckle. “I’m keeping an eye on things. Making sure things go smoothly. I want everyone to enjoy themselves in our house.”

“Lighten up, Gladdy—you did a great job! It’s a beautiful evening, everything’s perfect, and you’re the world’s greatest big brother. You can relax and enjoy the party now, y’know?”

"How did I get such a cute little sister?” He pinches her arm, and she squeals, slapping his hand away. “Now go, I’m sure Lunafreya wouldn’t mind your help rounding up the rest of your fellow May Queen nominees for their dances.”

Gladio watches her skip way down the staircase and presses his lips together as he makes a soft, fond noise. _I don’t care what Ravus says, what he thinks he saw in her silly imitations of our forms. Iris wasn’t born to power; Lunafreya was._ Watching Luna grow up beside Ravus, one could not help but see it—how easily she demanded what she wanted, how willingly her brother gave in. By the time she was in middle school, she had a queen’s influence and, in Ravus, a knight ready to extend it.

Iris never had any of Lunafreya’s steel— _she’s just too sweet, really_ —and her love for her big brother was more hero worship than vassal’s loyalty. Even tonight, although easily the most dazzling of the May Queen nominees in her crown of gold-foil roses and primrose tea-length gown, she is _merely_ dazzling. Nothing at all like Luna or, Gods forbid, Aranea.

As he finally descends into the ballroom, Gladio glances toward the entrance. What he sees practically knocks the wind out of him. Standing there are Noctis and Ignis, searching the crowd for anyone they know. The Bridegroom is all contemporary tailored elegance in Ravus’s ivory and black— _his eye is impeccable, and I must remember to congratulate him later_ —but Ignis is the true spectacle to behold.

On a lesser being, such a classical approach to black tie would look stuffy. On Ignis, it looks exquisite and effortless, the way it’s meant to be. Comfortable. Becoming. As expected, Insomnia Academy’s rebel fashion icon knows how and where to bend the rules, as evidenced by the substitution of slick purple patent shoes and the addition of a pair of perfectly matched chains to his waistcoat. He’s relinquished his glasses— _For contacts, perhaps? And be still my heart, is that makeup?_ —and his usual artful dishevelment for a soft, upswept pompadour. Not to mention, of course, one of the Noctis’s improbably coordinated roses on his lapel.

In his wildest dreams, Gladio could not have imagined a better outcome.

“I feel like a piece of meat,” Ignis says as he leads Noctis past a cluster of giggling students. He can hear them not-so-quietly marveling about how they love his radical everyday style but can’t get enough of this elegant look. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple lift their phones to snap photos, and he lowers his head.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Master Ignis?”

“I didn’t think people were going to react like this.”

Noctis pats Ignis’s arms and smiles. “You know, there’s no need to suffer on my account. We can go home.”

“I’m not suffering. It’s fine. I promised I’d escort you tonight, and I intend to keep that promise. Let’s get you something to drink.”

“But you look so uncomfortable!”

Ignis blinks several times, the look on his face almost comically horrified. “Do I really look that bad?”

Noctis covers his mouth to keep from giggling. Instead, he makes a few muffled noises and says, “Dude, your face!”

“Did you just say ‘dude’?” Ignis drops Noctis’s arm and snickers. “Prompto, is that you in disguise?”

As if compelled by cosmic providence, Prompto turns a corner and says, “Dude, just because I’ve never worn a tux before doesn’t mean you get to call it a _disguise_ , Iggy!”

It is too much. The two practically fall into each other’s arms, eyes welling with tears as they double over with laughter.

Prompto looks around at the staring masses, back to his two cackling friends, and asks, “Mind telling me what’s so funny?”

* * *

“Noctis dear!” Luna rushes up, all but yanks Noctis off Ignis’s arm, and sweeps him into a hug. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come! Oh, but let me look at you.”

Ravus tries to appear like he’s not interested in the Bridegroom’s clothes. Considering, however, how much energy he invested in selecting and tailoring them, he deems it important to see if his efforts yielded the proper results.

As expected, everything fits perfectly, and Ignis has ensured that Noctis is properly accessorized—from the pristine white Marcella bib left exposed by his bowtie, to the gold cufflinks peeking out from his French cuffs. Soft leather loafers practically blossom from the hem of his slim tuxedo pants. A delicate pocket square in white and gold is the final touch in his breast pocket.

Each piece is simple, precise; the only flourish is the substitution of the gold rose behind the ear, as opposed to on the lapel. The effect is striking, at once sophisticated and youthful. Combined with an application of light contouring makeup and a rosy, wet lip, Ravus realizes that Noctis— _no not Caelum how could I have ever believed he didn’t deserve his name Noctis Noctis Noctis_ —has never looked so beautiful.

 _What am I feeling? Is it…jealousy? Surely not._ But even as he tells himself it isn’t, Ravus realizes he knows this sour pang he’s felt on rare occasions when Luna’s— _and, dare I admit it, sometimes even Gladio’s_ —attentions are directed away from him. And he feels it now, looking at Noctis.

He’s jealous of Ignis for possessing Noctis, when it should be him and only him.

He’s jealous of Luna for looking at Noctis, when it should be him and only him.

This is not what he expected.

Luna swallows and blushes bright pink. “Why, you look absolutely radiant! And I love that you’re wearing your nominee’s rose behind your ear,” she says with a shy giggle. “It’s so you and very dashing.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Luna. Master Ignis assisted with everything, of course. I’m lucky to have had such fashionable Champions who know how to dress me so well, wouldn’t you agree?” Ravus notices Noctis glance his way as he does a little pirouette. For a moment, there is something dangerous in the Bridegroom’s eyes that legitimately scares him. Almost instantly, it’s replaced by a knowing smile. _You know very well who sent you those clothes, don’t you, Noctis?_

“Excuse me, Lunafreya.” Ravus places a gentle but insistent hand on his sister’s arm. “Shouldn’t you escort Noctis to the parlor so he can mingle with the other nominees?”

“You’re absolutely right. You don’t mind, do you, Ignis? Don’t worry, he’ll be just over there,” she says, pointing to an adjacent room where a small group of students wearing gold roses have gathered. “You’re welcome to watch, but we must insist you don’t interfere.”

Ignis looks warily between Noctis and the parlor. “Do you think you’ll be okay over there?”

“I…think so.”

“I’ll come closer, so I can be within eyeline and earshot if you need me.”

“As you say.” He smiles, gives a small nod, and hooks his arm for Luna to take.

Ignis allows the two to move ahead before he follows behind slowly, pausing to say hi to some classmates and duck out of a few more cellphone photos. Ravus sticks close by, almost but not quite shadowing him. _He’s staying close to Lunafreya,_ he thinks. _It’s a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything._ But once Ignis finds a convenient wall to lean against, Ravus is right by his side.

“Scientia.”

“Vice Pres—”

“You should call me Ravus. Everyone does. Well, everyone but him.” He gestures vaguely in Noctis’s direction and rolls his eyes. “I see you did quite well correcting Gladio’s prehistoric notions of black tie.”

Ignis narrows his eyes. “He told you he was sending me something?”

“Actually, I told him to send _you_ something.”

The confession earns the Vice President a scoff. “Do you dislike me that much?”

Ravus raises an eyebrow and resists the urge to grin. _Smartass._ “I trusted in your capabilities. Besides, why wouldn’t I want to help Gladio catch the attention of someone he’s interested in? Surely you’ve heard he’s my _oldest friend_.”

Something about the way he stresses those words and looks at Ignis so intently reminds the younger man of Ardyn.

> _In the kitchen, Ardyn strokes his cheek, and Ignis imagines his face is a canvas painted red by those fingers. The thumb that tugs his lip down for the briefest second before resting on his chin, a palette knife pushing through thin, pale flesh to the pink swell beneath. “_ Darling _,” the older man says, as if to a lover and not the friend of his nephew. “What would I do without you?”_

“Lunafreya said you two used to sneak out together when you were thirteen.”

“Much younger than that.” The hard lines around his mouth and eyes soften for a moment before he clears his throat and frowns. “Gladio’s still tragic. Have you seen what he’s wearing?”

“Not yet, but I have ¥2000 riding on a burgundy velvet smoking jacket and matching slippers.”

“You’re going to win that bet. He’ll argue that it’s perfectly appropriate because he’s the host, and he’s not wrong, but…” Ravus breathes out a huff too sharp for a sigh.

“Well, antique or not, this suit was a gift from the ball’s host, and that means I owe Gladiolus at least a little of my time.”

“You’re a bastion of courtesy.”

“By the way, your tailors did an excellent job on Noctis’s suit.”

“Indeed they did.”

“Lunafreya has quite an eye.”

“Don’t be so naïve, Scientia. Think: who amongst House Fleuret would actually know his measurements? Certainly you don’t think Lunafreya was in the habit of ruining his uniforms.” Now he does smile, all teeth. “Consider that gift something between a peace offering and a self-indulgence. After all, doesn’t he look just _delectable_?”

Ignis pales. “How dare you! You’d better leave him alone!”

Ravus barks a single laugh. _And there it is, everything I need to know about you in a single reaction. Somehow, you’ve stumbled into this clan of hyenas and are neither predator nor scavenger. You’re a zoologist in furs trying to figure us out. Scientia, you lucky fool._ “You really don’t know how to play this game at all, do you? Then you should at least know he’s probably safer around me than any other Duelist. I have none of Luna’s illusions, Aranea’s biases, or Gladio’s ambitions.”

“Oh.”

“Well, go ahead. Go have your little talk with Gladio. I’ll guard your flower until you return. And to answer the question I see forming on your pretty lips,” he says as Ignis starts to take a breath to speak, “you have no reason to trust me, but nominating Noctis for May King was my idea. None of it works if he gets hurt.”

 _He said “Noctis,” not “Caelum”—and he hasn’t even noticed that he said it. That’s enough for me._ Ignis smiles. “All right. One last thing. Tell your couturier that your suit’s impeccable, and the corset’s a stroke of genius. I love the contrast between it and Lunafreya’s gown, though I suspect she hates it.”

“What makes you think—”

“Garments that complex have to be made to spec with multiple in-person fittings, and she doesn’t seem the type to make that kind of social commentary with her clothing.”

“She doesn’t, does she?” The look he gives Ignis isn’t quite a smile, but there’s a warmth there that wasn’t present when he smiled earlier. “Well, thank you.”

“Good evening, Vice President.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation. “What did I say about my name?”

But Ignis is already gone, absorbed by the crowd. Ravus doesn’t bother arguing with the air.

* * *

Luna blows an aggravated breath into the wisps of hair framing her face. “Noctis dear, this is well within Ignis’s parameters. You’re here to have a good time and compete for the May King crown, and part of that includes dancing with one of the May Queen nominees.”

“Miss Luna,” he says, folding his arms, “the Code’s not really designed for intimate interactions with non-Duelists. This is incredibly nerve-wracking. Besides, I can’t just dance with a stranger like that.”

A voice behind him says, “Hey, I’m not a stranger!”

“Miss Iris!” Noctis turns and, seeing Iris, clasps her hands in his. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since you stopped dating my brother, I know!” She sticks her tongue out and pouts. “You never visit.”

“I don’t see why he would, Iris,” Luna says, her voice polite but flat. “If he isn’t enga—” Noctis clears his throat. “—I mean, if he’s not dating Gladio, why would he?”

“Umm, to see me? Just because he and Gladdy aren’t a thing doesn’t mean _we_ can’t hang! Also, he just _has_ to visit the kitten we rescued. Oh gods, Noctis, she’s so big now, and her little feet are sooo cute!”

“Is she really? Do you have pictures? Can you text them to me?”

“Oh wow, you finally got a phone?”

 _I’ll let Iris have this moment,_ Luna thinks as the two chatter, _but honestly, someone really should explain to her how breakups work. They don’t even need to explain the Dueling Game. Just basic relationship dynamics would be enough. Ravus is right—as usual—that Gladio needs to stop treating her like a child. And while he’s at it, he should tell her this crush she has on Noctis is a really bad idea. She’s not anywhere close to the kind of woman he wants._

“Iris,” she says, interrupting the exchange of photos, “you should probably get back to the nominee you’ve been matched with—”

“I _know_ , Luna.” Iris rolls her eyes. “That would be Noctis. None of the other girls wanted him.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Tucking her phone into a secret pocket in her gown, Iris circles an arm around Noctis’s shoulder and says, “Right? Who in their right mind would pass on the most gorgeous May King nominee? Their loss is my gain!”

Noctis blushes and covers his face. “I…don’t know about all that.”

“There’s no need to be modest, but still, this is really strange.” Luna says, craning her neck. “I mean, surely _someone_ is free to partner with you. Let me go see.”

As Luna steps away to check with the nominees gathered in the parlor, Noctis gives Iris an apologetic shrug. “Honestly, you really should let Miss Luna find you another partner. I’m a mess. And it’s a popularity contest, right? You’ll do better if you choose someone more popular—”

“No!” Iris stomps her foot. “I don’t care about popularity, and I don’t care what ‘Miss Luna’ thinks is best!” At the ‘o’ of surprise on Noctis’s face, she giggles. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, that she’s your friend. You’re always so nice, but it’s okay. I can make my own decisions! We talked about this back when we adopted the kitten, remember?”

“I remember.”

“So, it’s okay, I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Then I’m happy to be your partner,” Noctis says, taking her hand. “Partner.”

Iris throws her arms around him in a hug that almost knocks him clean off his feet.

* * *

As soon as he sees Ignis approaching, Gladio puts on his most charming smile. “Ignis Scientia, at last. Welcome to the May Dance and my humble home. I simply must apologize that we haven’t formally met until now, but I’m—”

“Student Council President Gladiolus Amicitia. Yes, I know who you are.” Ignis looks him up and down, his eyebrows raised. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he says, breathless. “Anything at all.”

“Open this and read it.”

Gladio blinks as Ignis hands him a small envelope. Uses a finger to pop the wax seal and tear open the flap. Reads the carefully printed text aloud: “‘Student Council President Gladiolus Amicitia will wear a burgundy velvet smoking jacket and velvet slippers to the May Dance.’ Oh, how clever. You expect me to believe you didn’t write this here?” he asks, shaking the paper in his hands like an accusation.

Ignis rolls his eyes. “You didn’t leave me any room for a wax seal in this antiquated waistcoat. Besides, I thought of that. Check the dated signatures.”

Sure enough, below Ignis’s signature are two more: Noctis’s— _that proves nothing_ —and Chairman Izunia’s. Ignis grins as soon as he notes Gladio’s amber eyes land on his trump-card signature, followed by a date two days prior.

Gladio shrugs. “So? This is perfectly acceptable attire, especially in my own home.”

“Perfectly acceptable, _and thoroughly uninspired_. I knew what you’d wear the moment I set eyes on this.” Ignis gestures to himself. “At least Noctis looks like someone bought his clothes this century.”

“What are you on about? Forget the gold rose in your Bridegroom’s hair. You’re the true King of the May Dance, or did you not see how everyone reacted the moment you entered?”

Ignis’s face tightens, as if he just took a bite of a lemon. It does nothing to hide the blush on his cheeks. “What do they know?” he says, just under his breath.

“They know beauty, Ignis, as I do.”

“Stop it, Gladiolus. Really, I’m already exhausted by your flattery. Does this act work on everyone else so easily?”

“What do you mean, ‘everyone else?’”

“You really don’t think I know your reputation, Mister Playboy President?” In truth, Ignis knew about Gladio long before anyone had bothered to warn him directly, thanks to an overheard conversation in the home economics classroom. And of course, it was Prompto, the insatiable gossip, that said to avoid Gladio unless he wanted to be used and thrown away.

 _Actually,_ he thinks, _I believe Prompto’s exact words were “stay far away from that ass unless you like being treated like a phone-powered fucktoy.”_

Unfortunately, Gladio is also a Duelist— _a former Champion, too, according to Noctis_ —and that means his presence in Ignis’s life is pretty much a guarantee. He has no intention, however, of putting up with flirtatious nonsense. “I’m really not interested in you or your propositions. You have my thanks, such as they are, for your host’s gift, but that is all you get from me.” Ignis punctuates his rejection with a frown and a pair of hands on his hips.

Gladio steeples his fingers to his forehead. “Such a burden,” he says, “being popular. I thought you, of all people, might understand.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You made some changes to the tuxedo I sent that make it—make _you_ _—_ even more stunning. That eyeliner and hair, the silver gloves and silver chains, purple shoes with Noctis’s purple rose. Yet I can’t help but notice how you keep hiding from our academy’s amateur paparazzi. Why?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Because you know deep down that you didn’t dress up for Noctis. That’s your story, right—that you did it for him? Maybe even for yourself? Ignis Scientia, you did it for me, to prove that you’re the better man. Congratulations. You won.” The President smiles as he removes his hands from his head and props himself against a nearby table. “Popular people have their motives misread all the time, you see. They’re misunderstood just because they’re popular. It’s a chore, wouldn’t you say?”

“I…I’m…” Ignis shuffles his feet.

“There you are!” Luna appears, grab’s Ignis hand, and begins to yank at his arm. “I need your help with Noctis. There’s a situation in the parlor.”

 _Really, Lunafreya,_ Gladio thinks, sighing as he watches his prey disappear around a corner, _you couldn’t stay lost for a minute or two more? I think I almost had him there._

* * *

By the time Ignis makes it to the parlor, several people have gathered around the corner where Noctis has backed himself, cowering. A pretty young woman in a yellow dress and a gold-rose crown tries valiantly to keep the people from crowding too close, but it’s a losing battle with all the attention they’re getting.

“What’s wrong with him?” one person says.

“He just freaked out,” says another.

“Why? It’s just a dance,” a third says.

“Back up, back up!” Ignis pushes his way through until he’s by Noctis’s side. “I’m so sorry, Noctis. I didn’t mean to leave for so long. I thought I’d only be a moment.”

“Master Ignis…”

“Wait, who’re you?” Yellow-Dress asks.

 _And who are you?_ “I’m his friend, and he needs some air. Everyone needs to clear out for a second. Where’s Luna? Can we get him a chair away from this corner for a second?”

As he leads Noctis away, the Bridegroom’s voice is barely a whisper, and his words blur together. “I’m so sorry Master Ignis I saw the horde and someone has a knife and she’s coming for me I know it Master Ignis I just know it—”

“There’s no horde, I promise. It’s just me, I swear.” Ignis holds Noctis, feels his heart pound against his chest. “We don’t have to stay anymore. We can go if you want.”

“But Miss Iris and her dance!”

“No, Noctis, you’re sick!” Iris— _so that’s who she is, but what’s their relationship?_ —says, taking one of his hands.

“What he needs, Prince, is someone telling him what to do.”

All eyes turn suddenly to Aranea, leaning against the threshold of the parlor, sipping sparkling water from a champagne glass. Her sunset orange gown, a masterpiece of plunged necklines and piled drapery, somehow makes her look at once like an ancient goddess and a runway model.

“Aranea!” Luna says. “It’s not as simple as that—”

“It’s exactly that simple. He’s not focused. Get him focused. You _can_ do that, can’t you?” She doesn’t even bother to hide the exasperation in her voice.

Ravus shrugs. “Can’t hurt.”

“Noctis, if you want to dance with Miss…Iris, was it?—” Iris nods. “—then you’re going to have to just do it. I know you can. Look at me.” He places his hands on each side of the Bridegroom’s face and gazes directly into his eyes. “Forget about the horde and the knives and all that. I’m telling you, there’s just us. There’s just you. Now, go dance and be the May King and make me proud.”

“As you say,” he says with a deep inhale and smile.

* * *

For the first time in Insomnia Academy’s history, the May King is a freshman unknown, and his May Queen, a middle schooler.

* * *

Aranea ducks out of the Amicitia home, ready to call her driver to bring her home, when she sees a person-shaped shadow in the bushes beside her.

“Who’s there?”

Noctis steps out, his smile sweet and warm. “It’s just me, Miss Highwind. I wanted to give you a present.” He removes the gold rose from his hair and extends it to her. “For your assistance this evening with Master Ignis. You were always very good at following my lead, whether you wanted to or not.”

> _“What am I supposed to do with you?”_
> 
> _“Whatever you wish. I am yours now.”_
> 
> _“Not sure you’ve heard, but I’m not into men.”_
> 
> _“I see. Dance with me, Miss Aranea.” Noctis extends a hand to her, and after a moment of hesitation, she takes it. Although she’s always seen him as submissive in Gladio’s presence, he leads her masterfully to music only he seems to hear. They move together for a minute, his face a delicate mask of smiles and soft eyes._
> 
> _Much to her surprise, Aranea finds herself a bit flustered._
> 
> _When they stop, he says, “I’ve been informed that you know more than most about the magics at my command.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, but don’t know what that has to do with this.”_
> 
> _He takes the hand she placed in his from their dance and positions it against his sternum. Leans forward and strokes her chin once before covering her eyes. “Miss Aranea,” the Rose Bridegroom says, his voice suddenly unfamiliar and distinctly_ feminine _, “not all of them are for battle.”_
> 
> _Through a tiny gap between his fingers, she can almost see his face. Only it no longer appears to be his, but that of a woman’s with almost all the same features._
> 
> _“Would this be acceptable, or do I have to become someone you know?”_

She takes the rose but says nothing. Does nothing. When her car arrives, she opens the door, pokes her head in, and says to the chauffeur, “Hold on just one second.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Noctis?”

“Yes, Miss Highwind?”

“Come here.”

He steps closer.

She slaps him hard across the face.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs. “From what I’ve heard, you’re not into men.”

“Keep it up,” she says, pulling a switchblade from the folds of her dress, “and you won’t be a man much longer.”

The knife glints in the lights, in the midnight of his eyes. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Aranea takes one look in his eyes and realizes he is. “Fine,” she says, retracting the blade. “Just leave Luna alone.” With that, she climbs into her car and slams the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best lies are close to the truth. Or perhaps they're truths after all.
> 
> Why yes, Iris _is_ Nanami. As I got older, I really softened on my hatred of her. ~~Shiori can still die in a fire.~~
> 
> Chapter 10's cursed content: please take a drink, for the official [Noctis hit count](https://tenor.com/es/ver/utena-tenjou-anthy-himemiya-juri-gif-13319981) is now three.


	11. duel 11 :: order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ignis visits highwind manor. a duel. aranea gives ignis an unparalleled gift. ravus takes another ride. noctis confesses.

_shapeshifting from here to there_  
_secret formula, secret ritual technique melting into darkness_  
—J.A. Seazer, “Phantasmagorical Secret Spiral” (trans. EJ)  
  
  
  


This is a morning of firsts. Ignis has never met Aranea off-campus, never had anyone send a car to pick him up, never been let out with a gruff _she’s in the garden, I’ll be here_ at the end of a winding driveway. He follows the path lined with azaleas—raised in shades of red, orange, yellow, and purple to simulate the sunset so completely, he almost wonders if Noctis had a hand in it—until he sees an opening with a marble fountain and a figure seated at its edge.

“Aranea?”

The figure turns and waves him over.

When he finally gets closer, he realizes why he didn’t recognize her. She’s wearing a frilled nightdress in pale orange silk and a lacy cream shawl draped over her shapely shoulders. Her pewter hair is barely visible, bound under a kerchief with only a few strands escaping near the front and back. There’s something incredibly dainty and feminine about her, even as the smirk playing around her eyes and lips gives away the game. _She may seem delicate,_ he thinks, _but she knows exactly what she’s doing. Nothing she does is purposeless._

Unfortunately, Ignis spends a little too long looking, and she notices. “Oh? What is it? You like what you see?”

“S-s-sorry!” he says with a stammer and a quick glance at his feet to avert his eyes. “It’s just, I was just thinking what people might say if they saw you like this. I’ve only ever seen you in your fencing whites and Student Council blacks. Well, and your dress the other night. But you always come off so fierce, and you really… _don’t_ right now.”

“Never underestimate me. I’m my fiercest at home.”

“This is your home?”

“Yeah. Welcome to Highwind Manor. It’s technically part of the extended campus, but seeing as how I’m the current head of the family…” She glances him up and down, noting that he’s wearing another custom uniform. This one, however, is dyed all black. Deep purple grosgrain trims the divisions between what would normally be black and white, and the pockets are contrasted in purple and silver brocade. “You, though—do you just not wear anything else?”

“I put a lot of effort into these. Why wouldn’t I wear them all the time?”

Aranea shrugs. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Why did you call me here, anyway?” he asks, taking a seat beside her. “I thought this was some early-morning training stuff, but you don’t look dressed for training.”

“I wanted to talk to you about some shit.” She breathes deep, cracks her neck and knuckles. “Look, I’m just gonna level with you. At first, I thought you were a spy sent by End of Night to fuck up the game. Now, I really don’t know what to make of you because if I’m honest, you don’t seem to have the first clue what’s going on. And if you’re acting, you’re even better than Pretty Boy, so I’m almost positive you’re the real thing.”

Ignis recoils a little. “I’m not a spy! I-I-I mean, I don’t _think_ I’m a spy! But I swear, the first time I’d even _heard_ of End of Night was when Noctis mentioned him after I beat Ravus, so I have no idea how I could even be a spy. Everything I know about the Dueling Game, I know from him and from talking to the Student Council. I’ve never even gotten a letter!”

“Then where the fuck did you get a Ring of the Lucian Rose from?”

“I got it when I was little.” A little smile crosses his lips, and his whole face softens, making him look even younger and more vulnerable. “I met a great beauty who said, ‘Never lose your strength or your nobility, and this ring will lead you to me.’ I remember being so impressed, so in love. That’s why I strive to be the best I can be in all ways, so I can be worthy when we’re reunited. And I keep wearing this ring, every day, to keep our promise close to my heart.” 

_Luna mentioned this person, the childhood sweetheart he’s saving himself for. So, he got the ring from them?_ “Wait, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that, when you were a kid, some weirdo gave you a Ring of the Lucian Rose and said that they’d come back and you’d both live happily ever after if you acted like a good little prince from that day forward?” She scoffs, shaking her head. “Do you know how fucking _childish_ that sounds?”

“Hmm…” He pauses, as if giving the matter serious thought. “When you put it that way, absolutely. And maybe it _is_ childish, but when I think about Noctis having miraculous, fairy-tale powers, I realize it’s no more childish than believing in the magic I know to be real after seeing what he can do. I really believe I’ll meet the beautiful one again, that we’re linked by destiny, and that Noctis’s magic is somehow involved in all that. I don’t know for certain, but if that’s his true miracle power, then I will be forever thankful to him for being my friend and seeing me through to our reunion. And even if it’s not, his presence in my life is more than enough magic for me.”

Aranea stares at him for several moments, mouth agape. Finally, she closes her mouth, stands, and with a gentle smile, saunters slowly to his side. A graceful hand reaches out to stroke his hair. After a moment, she lets her hand trail down his neck, his shoulder, and then his arm. Her face moves closer and closer, lips parted and wet.

Ignis swallows, scoots down the edge of the fountain ever-so-slightly. “Aranea? What are you—”

Before he can put more than an inch of distance between them, she snatches his ring hand by the wrist and twists it hard in her grasp. “Throw your ring away, now! You fucking disgust me. All your goodness and chivalry is an act someone you like tricked you into? No wonder you’re such an easy fucking mark!”

She pulls on his fingers, trying to yank the ring off, but Ignis realizes in a flash that he has better leverage. He leans back against fountain’s rim, raises his leg, and shoves her hard with his foot. “No!” he shouts as she flies backwards. “This is our only connection, and I won’t let you take it from me!”

Aranea grasps at her chest for a second, catching her breath. “You’re pathetic, you know that? The only good that stupid ring’s done is given you a reason to be noble, and even that’s for shit. Pret—fuck it, this shit’s too serious for nicknames— _Noctis_ is a demon with that pretty-boy face, and he’s got you convinced you he’s an angel.”

“And you’re convinced he’s a demon when he’s just a person who’s suffered for gods know how long. Why can’t all of you see how much this Dueling Game _hurts_ him? How much damage has been done to his heart from being used and tortured and treated like a thing with no will of its own?”

“Is that what you think?” She sneers, untying the kerchief and letting it slither off her head. Then, with bitter triumph in her eyes, she reaches back and removes the gold-foil rose holding her hair in a twist. The pewter waves tumble down her shoulders as she flings the rose to Ignis’s feet.

“Where did you get that?”

“Where do you fucking think?”

“What did you do to him?”

“Not even a fraction of what he deserves, so when I win, that’ll be first on my list of things to do.”

“But you were training me! You don’t even want him!”

“No one else is capable of controlling him. I know that now.”

Ignis’s voice cracks with desperation. “He doesn’t _need_ to be controlled. He’s a person with his own wants and needs, and if we just respect them—”

“Are you even listening to yourself? _He gave me that rose to give to you._ He played me against you, which means he’s either acting of his own accord or taking orders from someone higher than both of us. Who the fuck do you think that could be?”

“End of Night…”

“Exactly. And whichever one it is, you’re not prepared to deal with that. Therefore, you need to get out of my way.”

Ignis picks up the rose and tucks it behind his ear. “Never. I’ll always be right in front of Noctis, right in everyone’s way, for as long as he’ll have me.” He turns to go back to the car idling in the Highwind Manor driveway.

“You’re either the bravest or the stupidest man in Insomnia!” he hears her scream after him. “Whatever the answer, I’ll force it from you at swordpoint! You better bring those miracles, you hear?”

* * *

The air is surprisingly still in the Dueling Garden, as if even the elements themselves hold their collective breaths at the thought of this duel. As with Luna, Aranea awaits their arrival. Unlike Luna, however, she stands alone.

Ignis had seen her use a rapier in Fencing Club, had been told it is an illegal weapon, but somehow had never considered the reason until he sees her sword.

“Like it?” she asks, turning it back and forth so he can see the coils of counterguards and loop-guards around the gorgeous swept-hilt rapier in her hand. “It’s not encrusted in gems or anything like those Fleuret swords, but this one’s been in the family for generations. We make sure they’re built to last because we’ve always been warriors. Not many people get to see a sword this fine in their lifetime. You’re pretty lucky.”

“Thanks, I think.”

In silence, Noctis selects two roses—a vibrant apricot for Aranea, white for Ignis—and positions them on each Duelist’s chest. He takes care not to linger on the task, and once it is complete, he assumes his place next to Ignis.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she says with a huff. “Let’s get this over with.”

Noctis folds his hands together and begins his prayer: “Rose of the noble Citadel. Power of Somnus that sleeps within me. Heed your master and come forth!”

Light surges from the Bridegroom’s chest, and Ignis cups his hand at the small of Noctis’s back, cradling him to draw the Sword of the Father. “Grant me the power,” he says, “to bring the light of revolution!”

As the light recedes, both wear their transformed uniforms. Ignis gleams black, white, and indigo; Noctis, black and azure. The graceful knucklebow, the winged guard, and fuller inlay sparkle like the inverted Citadel emerging from the clouds; the blade, polished Lucian black, glows bluebright. The Duelist’s Champion and his Bridegroom stand ready, at last.

Ignis takes the initiative, charging first to strike at Aranea’s rose. He doesn’t even see her parry. The Sword of the Father merely glides down her blade as she passes backward and shoves him down.

“Pitiful,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

He jumps to his feet, expecting a counterattack, but she doesn’t move—merely stares and waits. This time, he dives at her knees, hoping to throw her off-balance. Another sweep of feet into another pass backward, and she’s caught him by the waist.

“Really? Pretty sure I taught you better than that.” She tosses him to the ground again. Waits for him to stand. Once he assumes an en garde position, she grins. “Oh, are you done making ridiculous advances? Then allow me to begin _my_ advance.”

There is no question: Aranea is without peer. A ruthless genius, she moves like water across a mirror. Her sword might as well be her arm, might as well be her body, might as well be the dragon’s wing and the dancer’s silken flourish. Every press, every attack, every lunge forces Ignis closer to the Dueling Garden’s ledge. There is no opening, no retaliation. It’s all he can do to follow with his eyes, much less his blade.

Just as he reaches the edge, she thrusts. Ignis winces, bracing for loss. But instead of slicing his rose, the point of Aranea’s rapier nicks his cheek. She laughs. “Were you planning to stop my blade with your face, Prince? So dashing! But let’s move away from the edge. It’s no fun if you fall to your death before I win all proper-like.”

Ignis feels blood well up, trickle down. “You’re toying with me,” he says, forcing deep breaths into his lungs as he circles away from the precipice and slowly extends the Sword of the Father in front of him. “If you could win at any point, why don’t you?”

“Ravus is an incredible warrior, Luna’s my most gifted protégée, and you’re just a talented amateur with a little training! How are you going to endure _him_ if you won’t show me how you beat them?” Aranea leaps, her voice raising to shout. “When will I be good enough for your miracles, Prince?”

She’s in the air, ready to bring her weight—her entire _might_ —crashing onto his head. Ignis knows this move, having seen it during her fight with Lunafreya after his first training session. There are two options available to him: he can meet her blade and hope to compete with her frenzied strength, or he can dodge and leave himself open to the reprisal that felled Lunafreya, a far superior fighter.

 _I don’t like my odds, but if Lunafreya couldn’t dodge her…_ He raises the Sword of the Father to block, sets his teeth, and braces.

Aranea sees the flicker before Ignis even realizes it is happening.

He _phases_ and rematerializes a couple of steps back. Should she continue her assault, she would be left prone for a few seconds. Long enough for him to knock her rose clear.

_This is how he wins._

_This is his miracle._

But she’s seen it before it’s happened.

As it happens.

And now she will stop it.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she screams, changing her grip. Fast as light—as _thought_ —her rapier meets the Sword of the Father at the forte in its new location, grates down the edge to the guard. A hook and twist of fingers and wrist, and she disarms him.

The sword goes flying.

Ignis falls on his ass and scrambles backwards. Instinctually, he raises his hand to cover his rose.

“You can’t guard it forever, Prince. Give up.” She holds her rapier point-in-line like a threat.

Doesn’t notice him flick his eyes heavensward.

The quick refolding of his legs beneath him.

He vaults, twisting in the air. Catches the Sword of the Father mid-rotation. Makes a quick downward thrust to her chest. Lands, sure-footed and spry, behind her.

“I believe this,” Ignis says, “is yours.” Her peachy rose dangles from the foible, and the bells ring a song like victory.

Aranea blinks a few times. Touches her breast pocket in disbelief and smiles. “You fucking did it, you son of a bitch. You’re halfway there. Keep this up, and you might actually be able to survive this.”

“Survive what? What are you talking about?”

“I saw it, you know,” she says, ignoring his questions. “The miracle power. It’s incredible. And you’re actually _mastering_ it. Let me give you something to apologize for underestimating you. A little bonus you shouldn’t have.” She turns. “Hey, Pretty Boy!”

“Yes, Miss Highwind?” he says, at their sides as if he was always there.

 _“Miss” Highwind?_ Ignis thinks. _She’s always been “Treasurer” before._

“Why don’t you show your Champion how you abandon yourself to the light in order to protect the sword and its wielder?”

He balks. “That’s not allowed—”

“Don’t care. You’re gonna cheat, I’m gonna cheat, too. Don’t make me make him order you. You know I will.”

“As you say.” Noctis kneels in front of Ignis, cupping the tip of the Sword of the Father in his hands. He raises it to his mouth. Kisses the flat of the blade. Laves his tongue up the black steel. The sword suddenly begins to glow, and the air around them glints. He looks up, slowly licks his lips with a grin. “For you, _Master Ignis._ ”

“I…” Ignis flushes, averts his eyes, tries not to conjure Noctis’s palms, his lips, his _tongue_ —

“Enough, pervert.”

“Of course, Miss Highwind.”

“Now, watch closely, Prince.” She winks, then faster than Ignis can react, clubs her sword into his chest.

Or, she tries to. Instead, it bounces off the shimmering lights, which coalesce into a dozen or more weapons that shield him. To reiterate, she swings a few more times, each strike deflected by the spectral weapons.

Ignis’s jaw drops. “What is that?”

“Ask your Bridegroom.”

Noctis stretches out his fingers, as if to stroke the weapons circling in the air. His fingers pass through the silverblue light, and he sighs sadly. “These are phantoms of the Lucian ancestral weapons. To be granted the honor of carrying a Royal Arm on behalf of the king was to be designated _armiger_ , an arms-bearer. Thus is this power, the king’s ability to summon all of them at once, named Armiger.”

“Have you always been able to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Forgive me, Master Ignis, but that knowledge was not supposed to be given to you, as Miss Highwind well knows.” He tips his head back, glares haughtily. _Like the Caterpillar in Ardyn’s painting, the Noctis I was never allowed to know before. No wonder Aranea doesn’t trust him._

“He’s not wrong,” she says. “Until now, no one knew but me. Don’t you think Ravus would’ve used this power against you if he could? Or Luna? Honestly, what I want to know is why End of Night only sent _me_ a letter about it.”

Noctis snaps his fingers, and the Armiger dissipates. “Don’t you, too, follow End of Night’s orders? Don’t assume I’m worthy of their plans just because I do as I’m told.”

“Like I trust a thing you say.” Aranea snorts. “You want my advice, Prince? Watch yourself around him. How much more proof do you need that he’s dangerous? In the meantime, I’ll text you soon to schedule another lesson. Stay safe.”

* * *

The night is clear, the road is long, but despite promises of a post-duel debriefing, Gladio is absent. This isn’t what Ravus expected at all. “Where’s Gladio?” he asks. 

“Do forgive an old man his deceptions,” End of Night says a little too cheerily. “I need to speak to you alone and thought you might not come if I said as much.”

Grey eyes narrow to flinty slivers. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I think you’re beginning to distrust me.”

Ravus grins, even as his eyes stay thin and sharp. “It’s not distrust to recognize one’s place in the grand scheme. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy fucking you, but you’ve been grooming Gladio to be your prize Duelist for a while. Me, I’m just _another one of your keys._ Remember when you called me that? Because I do. Well, I unlocked the doors you wanted. What good am I to you now?”

“Gladio brought you to me, practically swooning over how much you saw on your own. Now, with my help, you see even more. You’re already tracing the shape of the future, aren’t you? You see the battle your friend must undertake if he is to wrest the power of Somnus from Ignis’s grasp.”

“Whatever. I don’t care about him—”

“Oh, but you _do_ care, Ravus. You care about Gladio as much as you care about your sister…” End of Night smirks. “And the Rose Bridegroom. It’s simply _dreadful_ to have a heart so full of love, isn’t it? I should know. We’re so very alike, you and I. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“What the fuck do you want from me? I did what you asked. I’m done with—”

“You’re not even _close_ to done!” His voice catches on the _s_ in _close_ , a hiss of pain and sway—the demand of an embattled, embittered king. Immediately, though, he lightens his tone: “Gladio’s still too soft to challenge Ignis, you see. He requires forging and tempering, and you, my dear, are the hammer to my anvil. Combined with the fire I have planned, we’ll bring his edge forth. We can make him ready. Alas, your chance to defeat Ignis is long gone, but if you’re honest with yourself, you know you don’t really _want_ to. It’s not the magic you want but the vessel, after all. You can, however, make it possible for your oldest, dearest friend to claim the light of revolution for the both of you. So, what do you say?”

For several moments, Ravus stares at End of Night, at the flow— _like rich red wine, but in this dark, it’s almost as black as Noctis’s, isn’t it?_ —of long hair behind him. _He’s asking me to, what, give up any chance at the power of Somnus so that Gladio can have the best shot at defeating Ignis? How foolish does he think I am?_

And yet, the Vice President remembers the many years he’s spent with Gladio, the friend who—for better or worse—has never given up on him. Who knows the blackness at his core and still embraces him.

> _That finger pressing into his chest as they walk away from the boy in the coffin. “Then_ you _show him something eternal!”_

_If only I’d realized then that I could show him, Gladio,_ he thinks. _Or something close enough that it might not matter to a boy. After all, a decade must feel like enough of an eternity, right?_

_Right?!_

Ravus takes a steadying breath before he says, “What must I do for you?”

* * *

This is an evening of firsts. Ignis has never realized that Noctis stopped binding his hair at night when they began sleeping in their strange bed, never noticed how the Bridegroom always starts on his back, never recognized that the face he makes before changing positions is a pained wince. Tonight, however, in the gloom overlaying his victory, he notices things. He pays attention.

“Noctis,” he finally says when the Bridegroom turns over to face him, “is what Aranea said true, about you taking orders from End of Night?”

“Of course it is. It is their Dueling Game, after all. I must follow their orders, as the Student Council does.”

“But you said you answer to the one you’re engaged to.”

“Yes. I’m the Champion’s prize, their flower.”

Ignis stares very hard into the dark stars swirling behind Noctis’s eyes. “Whose words mean more to you?”

To his surprise, Noctis reaches across the space between them and takes Ignis’s hands in his. “What kind of a question is that, Master Ignis? Of course the one to whom I’m engaged matters most, always. Why else would I give you Armiger, the greatest power at my disposal, despite orders not to? You were never meant to have that.”

“Why?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. But maybe End of Night is afraid of you. Or they should be, anyway.” He drags Ignis’s arms across the flat gap, presses his lips to their tangle of fingers and knuckles. “You remember that vision of the horde I told you about? The one at the dance?”

Ignis nods.

“That’s the first one I’ve had since you came into my life. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to sleep nightmare-free so frequently. I think that’s because you make me feel safe. You make me feel strong.”

 _Wait, have I had a nightmare since I’ve met Noctis?_ He thinks back over the past several weeks and realizes he, too, hasn’t. Just the recurring dream of beaches and sands, pink shells and perfect blue waters. “Same, Noctis. I sleep easier knowing you’re okay. That you’re _here_ by my side.”

Noctis lets Ignis pull his arms back but doesn’t let go. “Master Ignis, actually, the truth is—” His eyes glisten, breath quickens.

“What is it?”

He takes a deep, steadying breath and blinks away his tears. “…never mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes wonder who would have really won in an all-out fight between Ravus and Aranea—you know, back when Aranea threw her match with him. Trust me, it's a _shame_ we never get to see how good he really is. I guess you'll just have to take everyone else's word for it.
> 
> Chapter 11's cursed content: The knowledge that Aranea is 10,000% right when she says, _Wait, let me get this straight. You're telling me that, when you were a kid, some weirdo gave you a Ring of the Lucian Rose and said that they'd come back and you'd both live happily ever after if you acted like a good little prince from that day forward? Do you know how fucking_ childish _that sounds?_


	12. duel 12 :: listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iris falls. gladio demonstrates amicitia hospitality. ignis & ardyn stargaze. ravus takes iris to meet the chairman.

_an operating table, a shipwreck, pure drama  
_—J.A. Seazer, “Spira Mirabilis Theatre” (trans. Takayama Miyuki)

  
  
  
  
The middle school girls are screaming.

“What are you doing?” one shouts from a window. “You’re gonna fall!”

Another sticks her head out the window and looks down, saying, “Come on, just let it go!”

“Grab the side with both hands,” yet another says, reaching down their arms, “and we’ll pull you up!”

Ignis and Noctis can hear it all and, from their angle across the courtyard, make out the dark-haired, feminine shape clinging to the side of the building with only a single hand. As they jog closer, Gladio joins them and then joins the shouting. “Iris! Iris!”

She turns, eyes wide and black with fear. A soft gasp of “Gladdy” escapes her lips before her foot slips down the narrow ledge. For what seems like an infinite second, she dangles. Gladio rushes forward, desperate to save her but knowing he won’t make it in time. As her grip fails her, Ravus appears from underneath the building’s arch to catch her, and the two collapse into the grass with a loud _oof_.

After a moment, Iris opens her arms and reveals a nest of baby birds.

* * *

“Brother, really,” Luna says, rolling her eyes so hard, Ignis thinks it’s a miracle her head doesn’t roll with them. “Iris is far too old for a piggyback ride.”

Gladio chuckles. “It’s kind of cute but silly, really. We could’ve called a car.”

“It’s too nice an afternoon to be in a backseat.” Ravus pauses to reposition Iris, taking care to avoid her sprained ankle, before resuming his walk. “Besides, there are six of us, not including the birds. And you know the moment Noctis saw them, you wouldn’t be rid of him until they were safe at the estate.”

Noctis, charged with the shoebox lined with plant clippings and newspaper—the current home of the nest—wiggles his finger under the lid before pulling it back. “Am I so transparent, Vice President?”

“Very.”

“I’m sorry for making so much trouble,” Iris says. “But when I heard they were going to cut that tree down today, I just knew I had to save them.”

“You didn’t have to jump out the window in the middle of class!” Gladio says, his voice much louder than he intends.

Ravus feels Iris tense against his back at her brother’s volume. “Calm _down_. Or should I tell Iris about that time you built that ramp in Luna’s window and rode your bicycle up it to see if you could land in the pool?”

Iris practically cackles, but Luna is incredulous. “You _didn’t_! You told me that was a window seat you were making for me!”

Even as he feels like an alien among the sibling pairs, Ignis chuckles. He delights in their banter and uses that happiness to smother the flame of jealousy licking a trail of uncomfortable heat up his chest. It’s a fire he’d come to know well at Insomnia Academy, the one whose light reminds him that he didn’t grow up with privilege like theirs, that he’s never shared his world with a brother or sister. _The closest thing I’ve ever had to that,_ he thinks, _was Prompto when we were both wards of the state. Not that my uncle didn’t ensure I had whatever I needed, but it’s clear these people grew up very differently, never wanting for anything. And now—_

“Master Ignis, you seem troubled,” Noctis says, pitching his voice under the eager chatter of the Amicitias and Fleurets.

“It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking how nice it is that they’ve all known each other so long. When I was younger, I might have given almost anything to have a brother or sister. To live the kind of life they had back then.”

“Why not now?”

“What do you mean, ‘why not now?’ I have you, silly!”

A suggestive smirk curls the Bridegroom’s lips. “Master Ignis, are you saying you think of me as a _brother_? Even after all we’ve shared?”

“You—” Ignis nudges Noctis with his shoulder and smiles. “Don’t be like that. We’re closer than brothers, and you know it.”

“I thought the same.” He peers into the box again, his expression sweetening at the sight of the sleeping chicks. “I wonder, though,” he says with a hint of whistle and tune in his voice, “what name you’d give to our relationship, since you’re so keen to reject the language of the Duelist’s Game. You don’t like ‘flower,’ you don’t like ‘engaged.’ What _do_ you like?”

Ignis blows air through his lips and shakes his head. “Does it have to have a name? You’re just Noctis, a dear friend and a special part of my life.”

His laugh sounds more like birdsong than any human voice should. “As you say. I’m happy to have earned such a place in your world, Master Ignis.”

“Scientia!” Ravus says, half over his shoulder. “Stop dawdling, and tell Noctis to do the same. Or should I ask _him_ to tell _you_ instead?”

Luna snickers. Gladio looks behind him with raised eyebrows and a crooked smirk.

As Ignis flushes, Iris digs a heel into Ravus’s side. “Ravus, you should know better than to be mean to Noct! I swear, you and Gladdy both are such jealous jerks! You each dated him and were mean to each other about it, and now you’re being mean to his new boyfriend. Grow up!”

This time, Noctis snickers. “Thank you, Miss Iris, but Master Ignis and I aren’t dating. We live together, but his boyfriend’s name is Prompto.”

“ _Noctis_!” He can feel his face redden deeper than ever. “Stop telling everyone that! You know perfectly well Prompto and I are only—”

“Then how’d he get _this_?” Noctis reaches into his pocket and whips out a photo.

“Is that—” Ignis reaches over to grab the image out of Noctis’s hand, but Gladio beats him to it.

“Oh.” Gladio takes a look and clears his throat. “Oh _my_.”

“It was _obviously_ a costume party! You can _clearly_ see the werewolf and the two fairies in the background!”

“Personally, I’m having a very hard time looking past your legs, Ignis.”

“Shut _up_ , Gladiolus!”

Luna wanders over to take a look. “Wait, what’s all the fuss abou—oh wow, that is one _incredibly_ short skirt, Specs!”

“Lunafreya, no!”

Ravus shakes his head at Ignis’s mortification, catches a glance of the Bridegroom’s widening grin, and allows the tiniest of bemused smiles to crease his lips. “I’m sure you’re terribly proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Noctis doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

* * *

Amicitia Estate, like Highwind Manor, is one of several properties considered part of Insomnia Academy’s extended campus. Despite being almost as old as Fenestala, home of House Fleuret, it is the youngest in terms of incorporation. The Amicitias, having sacrificed the last of their fortune and reputation to buy their way into the Academy’s graces, are one of the campus’s least powerful families.

No one is more aware of this than Gladio. Trained from a young age—like father and mother before him—to raise their social and financial capital. Lessons in economics, history, philosophy, genealogy. Dance, music, high etiquette.

It was Gladio’s dance teacher who first informed him how much he resembled his mother, how plush his lips were and how pretty his legs would look wrapped around his master’s waist— _when the time is right, of course, in a couple of years._

Then, his mother gave birth to Iris and passed soon after. Gladio made three decisions: he would begin courtier training early, he would supplement his dance training with weightlifting and kendo, and Iris would never, ever partake of the Amicitia lessons.

He would be her shield.

His dance teacher never fucked him, finding his ever-increasing bulk hideous.

Instead, Gladio let himself be seduced by his kendo sensei and later took Ravus’s virginity because he thought his friend’s pale beauty so rare and special.

By now, the Student Council President is a master of making guests feel welcome in his home. He remembers his mother’s words— _the more comfortable they are, the more sway you’ll hold over them_ —and keeps them close to heart. They’re more than advice; they’re a way of life.

So, when he takes his guests’ bags, jackets, and shoes, it isn’t just etiquette. It’s years of training in the ways of manipulation.

Reemerging after a moment spent stashing everything in a side room, he asks, “Can I get you beverages? It was a bit of a walk here. Everyone must be thirsty.”

“Your priorities never cease to amaze me, Gladio,” Ravus says with a sneer as he cradles Iris and settles her into an armchair. “Offering to take care of guests while your _injured sister_ just sits here unattended? Really now.”

“I’m fine, really! It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore, see?” Iris stands, but as soon as she puts weight on her ankle, she collapses back into the chair. “Ow ow ow…”

The Vice President’s face softens. “Let me get you something for that, okay? I’ll be right back.” He walks up the stairs, and calls down, almost as an afterthought, “Don’t mind me, I’m just raiding your medicine cabinet.”

“Miss Iris, are you okay?” Noctis kneels beside the armchair, still holding the shoebox.

She sucks air through her teeth, moans at her freshly throbbing ankle. “Not really, but I’m sure it’ll be okay. How are the birds?”

Noctis takes the lid off and shows her the three chicks, all snuggled against one another in their nest. “Our little friends here are just settling down from all the commotion.”

“What should we do now?” Iris whispers.

“I believe they’ll need to be fed.” Noctis carefully sets the box on a nearby table and replaces the lid. “You’ll need to purchase some millet, soak it in lukewarm water, and then grind it up to make it soft enough for them to eat. Since they’re chicks, you’ll probably need to feed them once every three hours or so during the day.”

“That often?” Ignis says, poking his head over the head of the armchair. “Seems like a lot of work.”

“Well, they _are_ babies,” says Noctis. “Ideally, you should return them to their mother—”

Luna lets out a small bark of a laugh. “Good luck getting Iris to do that. Didn’t you know? The Amicitias are like wild animals.”

“Lunafreya!” Ravus hisses from the staircase. “That is _quite_ enough from you. And I’ll thank you not to insult our hosts and my friend in their own home.”

 _I didn’t even hear him come back down,_ Ignis thinks. _He must have found what he was looking for pretty fast._

Much to Ignis’s surprise, Luna looks properly chagrined. “You’re right, brother,” she says. “I’m sorry.” When she sees Gladio round the corner with a tray of ice-filled highball glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, she adds, “Apologies to you as well.”

“Did I miss something?” he asks.

“No more than usual, old friend. Here, let me get one of those so Iris can get some pain medication into her system.” Ravus snatches a glass and fills it. “Swallow these.” He drops two black capsules into Iris’s palm before passing her the drink. “They should help with the inflammation, but get your ridiculous brother to help you tonight.” He makes sure to give Gladio a stern look with just a hint of a smirk playing about his eyes.

“Yeah, Gladdy, you heard Ravus! You gotta help me!”

“Dearest brother,” Lunafreya says with a twist of lip, “I honestly can’t remember the last time you were this sweet to anyone. I daresay, you haven’t even been this nice to _me_ in ages.”

“That’s because,” Ravus says, his voice pitched so low, Ignis can barely hear it, “you haven’t been that young and selfless in ages, Lunafreya.”

When Noctis sees Luna’s eyes narrow, he circles in front of Iris and raises both his phone and his voice. “I’m going to text you about building a nest box for the chicks, okay? We’re not starting until your foot gets better, though. And don’t forget to get some millet!”

Iris chucks the pills into her mouth, throws her head back as she takes a big swig of lemonade, and sighs with relief as she swallows them down. “Sounds great. Thank you _so much_ , Noct. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles gently. “It’s no trouble at all, Miss Iris. Anything to help you with these sweet babies.”

There is a tiny part of Ignis that feels the urge to be jealous, but he can’t—not when his “rival” is a middle-school girl who leapt out of a window to save a trio of baby birds. If anything, he wants to protect her, too. He wants to be the Ravus who can catch her and carry her home, the Noctis who can teach her to care for the chicks, the Gladio who can speak her name like it will save her life. He settles for capturing Noctis’s hand in his and clutching it to his side.

* * *

As Ignis clears the table and Noctis prepares an evening tea service, Ardyn wanders to the twin couches near his studio entrance. Drapes himself dramatically across one and traces idle patterns into the surface of the coffee table between the couches. “Why don’t we do a little stargazing tonight?”

“You mean, that thing actually works?” asks Ignis.

“Of course, darling! Why, you’re looking at one of the finest planetariums in the world!”

Noctis chuckles a little. “You know, Master Ignis, I sometimes think Uncle Ardyn got this job just so he could have unrestricted access to it.”

“Don’t make _me_ sound like the _greedy_ one. You _adore_ it.” The way Ardyn drags his vowels makes him sound at once drunk and lovestruck. Ignis looks over from the sink and notes that Ardyn is staring at them both upside-down, his head inverted over the arm of the couch.

“Uncle, exactly how much wine did you have at dinner?”

“Two glasses.”

“Shall I go down to the greenhouse to collect some milk thistle?” Noctis narrows his eyes, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

Ardyn turns over, sitting up and crossing his arms as he faces them. “I certainly don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating, _nephew_.” His tone shifts to something darker— emphasis now on trailing sounds, the _s_ of _insinuating_ and _ph_ of _nephew_ slithering over lip and teeth.

“Why would I insinuate when I can be perfectly direct with you, Uncle?” Noctis walks the tea tray over and sets it on the table. “However, I do need to go collect evening primrose.”

“A night-bloomer, yes. Well, try to hurry back. I’ll give Ignis a primer in your absence.” Ardyn waves Ignis over. “Come, my dear! Have tea and look at the stars.”

Noctis smiles, a hint of regret flickering dark in his sapphire eyes. “Just…humor him, please? Honestly, Master Ignis, he really only does this when he’s lonely or depressed. Will you be okay? I’ll try to be quick, I promise.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

As the elevator slides closed, Ignis takes a seat next to Ardyn on the couch and picks up his cup of tea. “You and Noctis both will have to be very patient with me. I may know the basics of astronomy, but I confess, I know very little about mythology.”

Ardyn clicks a button on a remote Ignis didn’t realize he was holding, and thick covers slowly descend over the windows. “Don’t worry too much about it. By the time we’re done with you, my dear, I’m certain you’ll know more than you ever wanted to know.”

As the room begins to black out, the planetarium glows, illuminating the area a faint blue. “Now then,” Ardyn says once the windows are completely blocked, “let’s get a look at tonight’s sky, shall we?”

The glow fades, and the stars sharpen into view.

“Amazing! No wonder Noctis loves it so much!”

“My dear,” the older man says with a quiet chuckle, “you haven’t even touched that tea since we started. Go on, drink up before it gets cold.”

It’s already cold, so Ignis practically chugs it so he can set the cup down and turn his eyes back toward the stars painted in light on the ceiling. He stares for several moments, taking in the shimmer of illusory sky, before his gaze wanders over to Ardyn.

Like Ignis, Ardyn is staring at the false stars, but his expression is oddly sour. Suddenly, he snorts, mutters to himself, “Seems my star is brighter than usual tonight.”

“Pardon?”

“Come, darling, I’ll show you.” Ardyn slips one arm around Ignis’s shoulder and pulls him close, holds his other straight out and points with his finger. “Here, follow the line of my arm and look right there. You see the star that doesn’t flicker and is brighter than all the others? That’s the planet Venus.”

Ignis feels his face grow flush. This close, he can feel the press of Ardyn’s fingers into his arm. The tickle of Ardyn’s hair against his neck. The heat of Ardyn’s breath on his ear. “That one I _do_ know. Venus is the goddess of love. Does that make you a…” Ignis swallows, hesitant to say it. “…a romantic, Ardyn?”

“Did you know Venus is known as both the Evening Star _and_ the Morning Star?” he asks, seemingly unaware of Ignis’s question. “And that it doesn’t flicker because it’s a planet and so close?”

“I guess,” Ignis says with a small smile, “it’s not really a star, then, right?”

“Early astronomers didn’t know the difference. All they knew was that Venus was very bright and always traveled with the sun, appearing before it rose and after it set.” Ardyn closes his eyes. “The Morning Star heralds the dawn, yet no one sees it once the sun rises. What must the Morning Star think when it watches the sun shine so brilliantly, knowing it can only ever reflect the other’s light and never shine on its own?”

With a heavy sigh, Ardyn reopens his eyes, and Ignis can see they’re wet with tears. “Ardyn,” he says, “are you okay?”

“Oh, but I’ve troubled you!” He blinks away the sadness, takes one of Ignis’s hands in his. “Forgive me, dear one. I’m too much like the Morning Star. Intense, fiery, prone to reflection. It’s all in the name—Ardyn the passionate, Ardyn the burning. But we’re very alike in that regard, are we not?”

“I…I guess so?”

“We are indeed, my Ignis who blazes so bright. Like the Morning Star and Evening Star, two faces of the same vibrance.” He brings his lips to Ignis’s knuckles. Ghosts breath hot and intimate across them. Not a kiss, not quite—but more than enough to make the younger man quiver.

* * *

The Bridegroom stands in starlit black and watches silently.

He’s been standing there for some time—having long since finished his harvest—but he knows better than to interrupt.

> _When End of Night had wanted Miss Highwind, the most dangerous challenger to his Chosen, eliminated, he thought all he had to do was wind the clockwork and let his gears grind themselves through their cycles. The Bridegroom, however, had long ago mastered the art of sabotage, and the Dragon, for all her faults and biases, did not fail the tasks set for her. She taught Ignis the power of the Armiger, revealed the secret the Bridegroom himself could never speak:_
> 
> _He answered to another master. To End of Night._
> 
> _Of course, she’d offered it as proof of the Bridegroom’s ongoing treachery._ I’m so very, very treacherous, _he’d thought when she’d said so,_ but no more than I’ve had to be to survive this long.
> 
> _That’s not what he’d said, however._
> 
> _So, when End of Night ordered him away, the Bridegroom let that lament for all his failures touch his eyes. “Will you be okay? I’ll try to be quick, I promise.”_
> 
> _He prayed his Champion had grown savvy, learned the necessary possessiveness._
> 
> _He waited for the command that would keep them safe tonight._
> 
> _But Ignis did not give an order sharp enough to counteract End of Night’s. “It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”_
> 
> _And he even_ waved _, smiling that innocent smile that doomed them both._

He can do nothing but clench his basket, fists wringing the handle almost hard enough to crack, as Ardyn plays at innocent flirtation. As Ardyn grins, rests a palm high on Ignis’s thigh. “ _Darling_ ,” he says with a purr, “you really do capture all the light of day and bring it home with you each evening.”

The Bridegroom can almost feel the heat radiating from Ignis’s cheeks. “I…I’m nothing as special as all that.”

“On the contrary, have you seen how you brighten this place with your very presence, how you bring smiles to everyone’s faces?”

“Wait, Noctis!” Ignis says with a start, twisting on the couch enough to bump Ardyn’s hand loose from his thigh. “I wonder where he is!”

“He does seem to have…” Ardyn’s voice trails off, and the Bridegroom can hear the bitterness hidden beneath his quiet musing. “…wandered away, now hasn’t he?”

Noctis takes this as his signal to move— _silent, so silent_ —toward the elevator and emerge. “Master Ignis! Uncle! I’m back! Apologies, but there were so many blossoms, I couldn’t resist.” He holds up a basket of evening primrose, moonflower, night gladiolus, datura.

Ardyn stands, stretches like a cat. “Just like a gardener to be as smitten by the blooms of the soil as the blooms of the sky. Am I right, Noct?”

“Of course you are, Uncle.” He breathes deep, taking in the flowers’ perfumes. Their _applications_. “Of course you are.”

* * *

Ever since the May Dance, Iris has felt it.

She has tried to be polite—her mother would be disappointed if Iris was anything less than a lady—but the more effort she pours into courtesy, the more she understands that she isn’t imagining things.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret definitely hates her, and she has no idea how to handle it.

She hates to ask her brother for help, but honestly, he’s the Student Council President. Shouldn’t he’d know best how to handle this sort of thing? After a few moments of swallowing her pride and working up her resolve, Iris limps down the hall to her brothers bedroom door. Knocks. Pushes it opens. “Gladdy? You awake?”

He’s on his balcony, and she can hear him speaking softly into his phone.

“No, really, she’s fine. Just a sprain. She shouldn’t interfere with our plans again. No, don’t be like that—you think I _asked_ her to throw herself out of a window at some birds?” He chuckles. “Just like a baby sister to do something impetuous, right? But enough about _her_. I seem to recall you saying _your_ legs were feeling so very jealous that my sister’s were getting all the attentio—hmm? Oh, I’m _definitely_ imagining how smooth your thighs feel against my tongue—”

Iris lets out a little squeak, clamps a hand over her traitorous mouth, and scampers out as fast as her injured foot will allow.

Once she’s back in her own bedroom, she feels her face flush and knows she can’t talk to her brother. Not now, not after what she’d heard.

Then Iris thinks back to how kind Ravus was to her earlier in the day—carrying her home, getting her medicine, stopping Lunafreya’s insults—and remembers that he’s the Vice President. _He’s probably just as qualified as Gladdy to help out,_ she thinks as she grabs her phone from the charger.

> **hey ravus?**  
>  **this is iris, gladio’s sister**  
>  **hate 2 bug u but kinda need some advice**  
>  **it’s about lunafreya**
> 
> **Hello, Iris.**  
>  **That’s quite a thing to text me about so late.**  
>  **As her brother, I’m afraid I must decline.**
> 
> **oh**
> 
> **However, I have a proposition.**
> 
> **i’m sorry**  
>  **oh wait rly??**
> 
> **Are you familiar with the Chairman’s office hours?**  
>  **I’d be more than happy to escort you after classes.**  
>  **Just so you’ll feel safe and not have to go alone.**
> 
> **you’d do that?**
> 
> **Of course.**
> 
> **you’re the best, thanks**  
>  **see u then!!!**

* * *

“Well,” Ravus says, gesturing to the building in front of them dramatically, “here we are.”

The squat concrete structure has none of the radical grandeur or classical elegance of the rest of Insomnia Academy. In truth, it looks like someone air-dropped a warehouse on the sidewalk and tried to hide it with a few well-placed bushes.

Iris makes a face. “What _is_ this ugly place?”

Ravus purses his lips. “Besithia Memorial Hall.”

“Who’s Besithia?”

“Professor Verstael Besithia. And before you ask,” he says, raising a hand, “all I know is that he used to work here and was an expert in both genetics and robotics. There isn’t much in the records beyond that. No one in the alumni association seems to remember who he was, either.”

“Why does the Chairman keep office hours here?”

“As I understand it, because no one else is using this building, and he specifically didn’t want to disrupt any class schedules.” Ravus snickers. “Think about it. Do you know a teacher here who would want to teach in this building?”

Iris appears to ponder this for a moment before smiling. “That makes sense. Lead the way!”

The Vice President nods. Holds the door open for Iris as they both enter. Checks in with the front desk by ringing the bell and signing a form. “In the future,” he says, “I won’t be with you, but all you have to do is sign in and ring the bell to let them know you’re here. Then just follow the signs.”

They head down chair-lined hallways, each chair supporting a sign with a directional arrow, until they reach a half-open door.

“The sessions are one-on-one to protect your privacy, but if you want, I’ll wait in the lobby—”

“No, that’s okay. I think I got it from here.” Iris’s smile is lovely, sweet. “Thank you so much, Ravus.”

Much to his surprise, he finds himself returning the smile. “You’re welcome.”

His hand lingers on the handle for a long time, long enough for him to overhear the perfunctory greetings, introductions, invitations to sit across from one another on opposite sides of the room.

And as he flips the **SESSION IN PROGRESS** sign over and slides the door closed, Chairman Izunia’s voice murmurs, “Now then, the Vice President tells me you’re a young woman in need of advice. I find it best to spend some time talking it out, exploring what you feel. Why don’t we start there, Miss Amicitia?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me ten chapters, but that crack Prompto made about Ignis rocking a miniskirt and thigh-high boots has finally paid off!
> 
> Chapter 12's cursed content: Oh, Noctis, honey—what _do_ you intend to do with those incredibly poisonous flowers you've harvested?


End file.
